


Black Mambo

by khiori



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Middle Earth, Modern Girl in Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 149,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khiori/pseuds/khiori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're not—you're not human,” she gasped.<br/>He glared at her, seeming affronted that she would mistake him for her own race. “No indeed. But you are a trespasser. You will come with us.”<br/>“I’m not trespassing, I’m lost!” She protested, backing away.<br/>“You are lost in the wrong place, then.”<br/>...<br/>Haldir has never trusted humans. It takes all of his faith in Galadriel to allow the girl he finds at the borders to live in Caras Galadhon - and then Galadriel orders him to train her. Aubrey just wants to get back to her world, and the duty she has left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first LOTR fic, which is a MASSIVE deal for me. This fic takes place about 500 years before the War of the Ring, but I do play around with timelines a little, so don't worry if something seems to happen at the wrong time. I know the whole girl-falls-into-middle-earth has been done to death, but I really wanted to put my own spin on it, so here we are. This IS a romance, but it'll take a while to get there, and it won't be the smoothest ride.

Aubrey was woken by the rain. Disorientated, she sat up, blinking against the rapidly strengthening downpour. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. For instead of the four walls of her bedroom, a vast, open plain stretched before her. The sea of grass was broken by small clusters of trees and, in the distance, the tall trees of a massive forest obscured the horizon.

She stood and looked around, eyes wide in wonder. Behind her, the same deserted openness stretched until it was broken by the dark slopes of a tall mountain, only one peak in a range that stretched as far as she could see.

Aubrey frowned, completely baffled. The last thing she remembered was preparing for bed in her small house in Skipton. And indeed, to her dismay, she was still wearing her pyjamas. She turned back to the forest and shivered; her thin cotton pants and oversized t-shirt did nothing to protect her from the cold rain.

_This must be a dream,_ she decided _. A very . . . very realistic dream. Except,_ she realised with rising dread, _when you’re dreaming, you don't know you’re dreaming._

Reality, then. Or a vivid hallucination.

Her skin was beginning to prickle in response to the cold. “I can’t stay here forever,” she reasoned aloud.

Looking between the mountains at her back and the forest before her, she began to walk towards the trees. They would offer better cover from the atrocious weather, and anyway, the mountains looked to be the best part of a day's hike away. Deciding to debate the likelihood of abduction versus extreme prank once she was out of the rain, she began to walk.

As she walked, Aubrey looked around, trying desperately to ascertain where she was. The landscape was unfamiliar, she realised straight away. The mountains were larger and sheerer than any she knew of in Britain.

The distance had looked deceptively short before she had set off. She judged it to have been almost half an hour before she eventually reached the shadow of the mighty forest. Though the rain had finally abated, she was soaked to the skin and shivering violently. Her bare feet were caked in mud up to her ankles and felt bruised and tender from her trek over harsh grass and stone.

A great fear stole over her, then. She had nothing but the clothes she was wearing and she had seen no sign of civilisation in any direction. Already, her throat ached with thirst and the first pangs of hunger spread through her body. A keen hiker, Aubrey knew well the dangers of becoming lost without adequate food, water or clothing. A sudden urge to cry built in her throat. _I’m lost. I don’t know where I am, or how I came to be here._

Angrily, she set her jaw and scowled determinedly at the forest before her. _I am not going to die,_ she told herself sternly. _One foot in front of the other._ It was with this resolution that she started forwards once more, her expression determined, and entered the forest.

o0o

A shrill bird call caught Haldir’s attention. He looked up sharply from the arrows he had been fletching and stood, walking swiftly to the edge of the flet.

The call came again. It was the swift, harsh whistle of a blackbird's warning call, a signal often used by his wardens. _Something is coming._

He felt a shift in the air behind him; his brother, Rúmil, at his shoulder. “What is it?” Rúmil asked.

Haldir shrugged. “Let us find out.”

They leapt from the flet as one, landing silently side by side on a wide branch only a few dozen feet from the forest floor. Movement drew Haldir's eye to the forest undergrowth below him; he turned, taking his bow from his back and smoothly drawing an arrow to the string.

When he saw the intruder, he nearly dropped his arrow in surprise. A young mortal woman walked over the border into Lórien, oblivious to her audience. Haldir smirked. Her strange clothing was drenched by the rain and plastered to her body, leaving very little to his imagination. He met Rúmil’s eye and found a matching smirk on his brother's face. Still, pleasant as the sight of the maid’s attire was, she was a trespasser.

Haldir whistled a soft bird call to the wardens he knew would be watching for his signal. He made sure that when he dropped, he landed as close to the mortal woman as he could without crushing her beneath his boots.

o0o

The forest Aubrey found herself in was breathtakingly beautiful. Soft golden light filtered down through the canopy to dapple shadows on the mossy floor. She wound her way through silvery birches and spreading oaks, their leaves familiar to her, and yet there were more trees that were entirely unfamiliar; their bark was smooth and silver, and they were taller and broader than any tree she had ever seen before. Tilting her head up, she realised that the leaves of the trees themselves were pale, shining gold.

A short, sharp bird call caught her attention and she frowned, gazing up into the canopy. The wood was deserted, yet she had the strangest feeling that she was observed.

The bird call sounded again—a blackbird, she thought. The feeling of being watched intensified, and, just as she began to turn once more—there was a rush of air directly in front of her and a man appeared not two feet away.

Aubrey shrieked and stumbled back, her heart thudding. It took a few dazed moments for her to realise he had dropped from the trees above and not actually materialised from thin air. Between one heartbeat and the next, she was surrounded, twenty or more men closing in a tight circle with her and the first man in its centre.

Aubrey's eyes darted around the circle. They all wore the same tight leather leggings, calf length boots and tunics, and each had a grey-green cloak around his shoulders. More disturbingly, they had longbows in their hands, arrows notched and aimed at her face. She noted daggers at their belts and the man in the circle with her, presumably their leader, had a sword sheathed at his hip. They each had silvery blonde hair worn long and braided at the temples, and their faces were fair and handsome. Raised in a time of guns and other modern weapons, Aubrey had never considered a bow and arrow a particularly dangerous thing. She took in the taught bow strings and the arrow heads, sharp enough to split a hair; an arrow would kill her as easily as a bullet, she realised.

The leader observed her with an inscrutable gaze, his own bow strapped across his back. He towered over her, clearing her 5'6" by at least ten inches. His stern face was handsome, his eyes a shade of silvery blue that seemed to pierce through her. She shivered, becoming suddenly aware of exactly how much her wet pyjamas clung to her. His gaze was so intense it was almost psychical.

“Greetings, mortal,” he said. His voice was deep and strong, yet lilted over the words, almost creating a melody. He had a slight accent, as though English was not his first language. “You are trespassing in Lórien. What have you to say for yourself?”

“What do you mean, ‘mortal’?” She demanded.

His eyebrows rose in derision. “I mean that you are not of the Eldar.”

Aubrey frowned, uncomprehending. She stared at him again, taking in every detail of his appearance. Aside from the odd, medieval style of his clothes and the fact that he had both a sword and a massive bow, he had appeared fairly normal at first glance. But now she looked again—the strong lines of his face were almost too perfect, too handsome. She saw that what she had first assumed to be the sun on his face was in fact a faint, almost imperceptible luminescence to his skin. And there—obvious, now that she saw—his ears swept up into delicate points.

“You're not—you're not _human,_ ” she gasped.

He glared at her, seeming affronted that she would mistake him for her own race. “No indeed. But you _are_ a trespasser. You will come with us.”

“I’m not trespassing, I’m lost!” She protested, backing away.

“You are lost in the wrong place, then,” he declared, striding forwards and seizing her arm.

“Get off,” she hissed, attempting to jerk her arm away.

His strength was iron and she succeeded only in gaining herself more bruises and a pissed off non-human. “You can come with me willingly, or I can carry you.” He snapped. He cast his eyes down her t-shirt, staring at where the damp cloth clung to her cleavage, and said with a smirk, “I would find it no chore.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she said, with feeling. Eyeing the arrows trained on her, she reluctantly stopped struggling. “I can walk by myself, if it’s that or be shot.”

He shrugged and released her. “Do not try to run,” he advised her. “We are faster than your kind, and I do not wish to waste my time chasing petulant mortals.”

He turned away and addressed his men in a beautiful, flowing language. They relaxed their bows and replaced their long, white feathered arrows in their quivers. They turned as one, and half of them vanished into their trees, their grey-green cloaks making them invisible as soon as they passed into shadow.

The leader in front of her and another ten of them behind her, Aubrey was marched further into the forest.

o0o

Aubrey limped after the leader, glaring at his broad shoulders. She had no idea where this Lórien was, but clearly, they did not welcome guests. Though she could discern no path in the undergrowth, the man before her led them purposefully, never once pausing to check their direction. The forest floor was a soft carpet of mosses and fallen golden leaves, but the tangling underbrush and the wide roots that stretched across the ground made walking hard, especially with bare feet.

It was not long before the leader paused before a tree. He whistled, perfectly imitating a bird call. Seconds later, a rope dropped down from the canopy with a soft rustle. Startled, Aubrey gazed up at the tree. She could not see how tall it grew, due to the thick canopy that obscured her vision.

“Climb up,” the leader ordered her tersely.

She looked back at the thin, white rope that had been lowered and levelled a glare at him. “With that thing? I’ve seen shoe laces thicker.”

“You would be unwise to doubt the _hithlain._ Elven rope does not break.” He said flatly.

She stared at him blankly. “Elven? As in, elf?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Elven. We are elves. How can you not know this? Are you simple?”

There was a shade of doubt in his eyes and something approaching pity. Aubrey scowled at him and resisted the urge to slap the expression from his face. “I’m not the one with brain problems here. Elves aren’t _real_.”

He grasped her arm above the elbow and pulled her towards him. Leaning down into her space so that his breath tickled her cheek, he snarled, “Elves are very real _, mortal._ Climb. The. Rope.”

His hand was hot on her bare skin, and tight enough that she could feel her fingers tingle. “I _can’t,”_ she cried, shoving him away. “I can’t climb with just a thin little rope, I’m not Tarzan.”

He let her move him, then matched her heated glare with an expression so cold she shivered under its weight. He called something in his strange language and waited; a moment later, a rope ladder was dropped from the tree.

Aubrey moved to climb the ladder before he could snap at her once more, her face burning with fury. More than anything, the pity and dismissal in his eyes had stung her pride. The ladder twisted as she climbed and more than once she slipped or missed a foot hold. She seemed to climb forever before she broke through the first leaves of the tree and beheld her destination: a large wooden platform supported in the tree’s branches. Two men— _elves,_ she thought with derision—stood upon the platform, watching her unsteady progress. Neither of them offered her help, though the branch the ladder was attached to was several feet from the edge of the leaf-shaped platform.

Grunting with the effort of her exertion, Aubrey managed to swing herself onto the platform. Her poor, abused feet met the shaded wood with a dull _thud_. From her vantage point, she could see her escorts down below, but she also saw how the leaves and shadows between herself and the ground had shielded the platform from her vision.

The elves that had been on the platform passed her silently and began to draw up the ladder and rope, rolling them neatly and stowing them upon the platform edge. Aubrey frowned; how would her escort reach them now?

She peered over the edge of the platform and her lips parted in shock. One by one, the elves on the ground took magnificent leaps into the tree, jumping as much as six foot into the air to snag a branch with their reaching arms. From there, they swung themselves into the branches and swarmed up the tree like monkeys, never faltering in their smooth grace.

The one she had taken for their leader reached their level first, jumping down from a branch above Aubrey’s head. He landed soundlessly, his boots raising not a whisper from the wood. To her extreme irritation, he looked as though he had exerted no more effort than she would to walk up a flight of stairs. He had probably taken less time in his ascent than she had with her ladder.

He spoke to the elves in their language; his tone denoting authority. Sure enough, they bowed their heads, collected bows and quivers from where they had been set against the tree trunk, and leapt from the edge of the platform without a backwards glance.

“You will spend the night here,” the leader informed her crisply. “Allow me to attend to your feet.”

Still smarting over his rude, aggressive manner earlier, Aubrey backed away. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped.

His eyes cooled and his jaw set, irritation if not anger on his features. “Suit yourself,” he said simply. He was gone before she could reply, leaping from the platform like a coiled panther. His men followed him, and she was left alone, high in the trees of Lórien.

o0o

Haldir flung himself from the flet, anger rising despite his best attempts to maintain his cool. The rage unsettled him; it had been a long time since he had last been drawn so easily to anger. Dismissing his wardens with a single hand signal, he ran lithely from branch to branch through the canopy until he reached the next flet. It was deserted, as he had known it would be.

Settling on the edge of the flet, he placed his bow on the floor beside him and shrugged out of his quiver, letting his legs dangle from the edge of the carved platform. He stared out over his beloved Lórien and let the gentle sounds of the forest soothe him. It wasn’t long before the inevitable occurred, and he sensed the presence of his youngest brother.

“Good afternoon, Rúmil,” he sighed.

Rúmil moved to sit beside him, folding his long legs to sit cross-legged upon the flet. “Well, that was interesting,” he smiled.

Haldir took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That’s one word for the encounter.”

“She got under your skin, brother,” Rúmil observed.

Haldir grimaced, wishing, not for the first time, that his brother was not quite so perceptive. “Perhaps.”

“Haldir, you were ready to run her through with you sword!” The younger elf said. His eyes glinted and he grinned mischievously. “Or . . . _run her through with your sword,_ if you—”

“Everyone catches your meaning, you elfling,” Haldir snapped. “Don’t be absurd, the creature is mortal.”

“And has the finest pair of—”

“Thank you, that will do, Rúmil.” He said quickly.

With a grin, Rúmil subsided, reaching for the Marchwarden’s bow. He ran a finger down the taught string of his brother’s weapon, squinting critically at the woven hair. “Your bow string is worn,” he observed.

Haldir cleared his throat and stood, gazing down at his youngest brother. “Then you shall re string it for me,” he said.

Rúmil snorted inelegantly. “I shall not.”

“That was an order, Warden,” Haldir said smoothly. He left the flet quickly, Rúmil’s glare scorching his back.

o0o

“Get up,” came a low voice.

When she did not immediately stir, Aubrey felt a boot nudge her in the ribs. “Hey!” She cried, rolling away. She looked up into the cool gaze of the leader. “Good morning to you too,” she muttered.

After he had left the night before, another elf had brought to her a flask of water, a small platter of waybread and cheese, and a light blanket. The food had been filling and the water refreshing, and, though thinner than silk, the blanket had been warmer than her goose-down quilt at home. She was reluctant to leave its warmth for the chilly morning air, but one look at the leader’s face told her he was not in the mood for arguments.

“I’m up,” she grumbled, standing and stretching. It was only after she had stretched her arms behind her head that she realised the effect this had on her chest. The elf was staring at her, a smirk on his face. “Stare at someone who likes you, dickhead,” she snapped, folding her arms quickly.

He merely raised an eyebrow, unfurling the material in his hand. “Or,” he said, “you could clothe yourself.”

She took the cloak from him, finding it spun on the same fine, light but warm material as the blanket. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly, fastening the clasp at her throat. The cloak flowed over her shoulders all the way down to her ankles, with a deep hood that she could have used to hide her face.

He did not acknowledge her thanks any more than to turn and walk to the edge of the platform. “Come,” he said, gesturing down towards the forest floor.

She hurried to his side. “What? I can’t jump that! Listen, Elf, you might—”

“Haldir,” he said crisply.

“Huh?”

“My name is Haldir, not ‘Elf’.”

She glowered at him. “And mine’s Aubrey. Hasn’t stopped you calling me ‘mortal’. I can’t jump down the tree.”

With a long-suffering look, he reached up and freed the rope ladder she had used the day before. “There. Now descend.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” She cried, but reached for the ladder anyway. Climbing down was no easier than ascending had been, and if anything was made harder by the long cloak tangling her legs. She had not taken five steps down the ladder before she felt the air rush past her and Haldir landed lightly on a branch below her. He didn’t even look up at her before he jumped again, and she lost his trajectory in her focus.

When she eventually reached the floor, he was waiting for her along with two other elves. “At last,” he commented acerbically. At a nod from him, one of the other elves walked forwards and offered her a pair of boots. They were the same calf-length style as the elves wore, but smaller and with none of the decorative tooling the elves had. Aubrey accepted them gratefully, her abused feet already throbbing from the trip down the ladder.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling them on. She winced as the soft leather rubbed against her tender, blistered feet.

Catching the movement, Haldir offered her a thin smile. “That looks painful,” he commented. “You should have had someone look at them last night, when you had the chance.”

His sarcasm was by no means lost on Aubrey; she narrowed her eyes at the pompous elf and seriously considered throwing a boot at his smug face. Before she could launch her missile, he had turned his back and begun the long trek into the heart of Lórien.


	2. Chapter 2

They had barely been walking an hour before the mortal began to slow their already greatly reduced pace.

“ _If she moved any slower, she would take root,_ ” Rúmil complained from his place at the rear of the group.

The other warden Haldir had chosen to accompany them, an ellon named Tornë, laughed. _“Perhaps she is weighed down by her breasts,_ ” he chuckled. Haldir supressed a smirk; the mortal’s cleavage, so different from the slender, willowy ellith of Lórien, had been the talk of his camp last night.

He looked over his shoulder in time to see Rúmil step forwards to keep pace at the mortal’s side. _“Fair lady_ ,” Rúmil said, “ _Would you allow me to carry this burden for you? I would be happy to oblige, one in each hand—”_

 _“Rúmil, enough!_ ” Haldir called. Whether the mortal understood them or not, it was in bad taste to mock her so. “ _Mock her for something she lacks, at least_ ,” he muttered.

“What are you saying?” the woman demanded, clutching at the edges of the cloak he had loaned her.

Haldir sighed; until this moment, she had been blissfully silent. “He was greeting you, nothing more. Hurry up; it is a three day trek to Caras Galadhon . . . though at this pace, I wonder we have not yet encountered a search party worried for our lives.”

“Three _days?_ ” she echoed, dismayed.

“Don’t despair, mortal,” he said, already continuing on his path. “If you love our company that well, I can always take the long way round.”

o0o

By the time they stopped for the night, Aubrey could barely lift one foot in front of the other. Haldir took one look at her exhausted state and motioned to one of the other elves. Before she could protest, he hoisted her over his shoulder and leapt into the tree. Even climbing one handed, the elf made the journey smoother than her own efforts had been with the damn ladder.

She was set down on a wooden platform similar to the one she had slept on the night before, though this one was larger and had a raised, sheltered area set with low sleeping pallets.

The elves set down packs and produced packages of food wrapped in cloth; one was tossed unceremoniously in her direction. Within the package was a small honey cake, a handful of dried berries, an apple and a block of cheese. She had devoured everything but the berries when one of the elves spoke.

She looked up, enjoying the sound of the flowing language if nothing else. She was startled when Haldir turned to her, an apple in one hand. He carved a slice from the apple with a small, silvery dagger and took the fruit from the knife. His teeth flashed white in the dusk light. “He says that his name is Rúmil, and he is pleased to meet you,” he said lazily.

“Oh! Uh, tell him I’m Aubrey, and it’s nice to meet him too.” She stuttered.

Haldir relayed the message to the elf who had approached her earlier. He nodded and grinned, a mischievous expression that did not sit entirely comfortably with Aubrey. The other elf introduced himself as Tornë, and seemed eager to talk to her, but Haldir stood, stating that he was wearied and did not wish to translate inanities all night.

Feeling isolated once more, Aubrey stood and trudged over to the furthest pallet, falling upon it heavily. Her feet ached and needled with sharp pains where they had rubbed against boots too large for her feet. The day of walking had left her hot and filthy, and her favourite pyjamas were now in a disgusting state. She wished fervently for a bra, if nothing else than to divert the lurid stares the male elves sent her—particularly Rúmil.

 _If this is a dream_ , she thought miserably, _I would really like to wake up._

o0o

Haldir sighed, leaning back to rest his head against the tree trunk. Rúmil and Tornë had long since retired to sleep, settling in pallets near the mortal. Though a watch was not strictly necessary so far into the forest’s borders, Haldir could find no rest. After nearly an hour spent trying to find the restful trance of the Eldar, he had given in. He found his solace in the forest around him, alive and active even in the depths of night.

A noise behind him caught his attention; the mortal shifted in her sleep and rolled over to face him, her brow furrowed even in sleep. He frowned, gazing at her. She had her eyes closed—normal for mortals, he assured himself, but still disturbing. _Still,_ he thought scornfully. _I could not mistake her for dead._ She shifted and snuffled like a sleeping dog, loud and obtrusive even when she was unconscious.

Like many of his kin, Haldir thought himself above mortals. He did not, as a rule, loathe them, but found them to be rash and insensitive. It was easy, he supposed, to carry out the reckless acts of destruction they did if you did not have to live to see the result. This mortal, though, this girl angered him. She was ungrateful and proud, and seemed entirely unaware of the world around her. She had invaded his forest, scorned his race and rejected his help.

~ _You are quick to judge that which you do not know, Marchwarden,_ ~ came a voice within his mind.

Haldir stiffened at the unexpected intrusion of the Lady Galadriel’s mind. _“I see as I find,”_ he murmured to the wind.

~ _I would meet her,_ ~ Galadriel continued.

 _“We are already on the way.”_ He sensed an approval and then felt his Lady’s presence fade from his mind. The sounds of the forest drifted back to him, as familiar to him as the sound of his own breathing.

Behind him, the mortal shifted again and sighed. She murmured something, her face muffled against the pillow. Haldir frowned, attempting to dismiss his curiosity. When she spoke again, he could not resist pacing closer to her. He paused a few feet from her sleeping form, every muscle in his body tense. His patience was rewarded when she rolled onto her back and said, clearly, “I’m sorry, Evan,” deep sorrow in her voice.

Haldir memorised the name almost without meaning to. Whoever this ‘Evan’ was, he was important to the mortal. A clue as to her origins, perhaps. No matter, it was knowledge he had over her, and that was an advantage in any situation.

o0o

The second day of hiking was even worse than the first. Haldir roused them as soon as dawn touched the edge of the sky and had them marching before the sun had fully risen, eating breakfast on the go.

Aubrey took a bite of her waybread and rubbed at her bleary eyes, still half asleep. At this early hour, the path was in deep shadow and thought the elves moved along with seamless, effortless grace, she kept tripping over roots and catching her ankles on thorny underbrush. She realised that the path had turned upwards slightly, barely steep enough to notice but enough that the walking was more tiring than the day before.

By midday, the gradient had increased to a steep incline that winded her and brought sweat beading to her forehead. She refused to ask the elves to slow down, knowing that it would only bring Haldir’s derision upon her, but she was beginning to feel light headed, and her throat ached with thirst. She had been given a full water skin at the start of the day, but found it empty when she raised it to her lips. “Haldir,” she called, ashamed of how breathless she sounded.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“I’ve run out of water,” she said, holding the flask upside down as evidence.

He gave her a scathing look. “And what would you like me to do about that?”

“Can I have some more?” she asked.

“We do not reach a river until sundown. You should have rationed more carefully.” He said dismissively, turning back around.

Aubrey strode forwards, anger flushing her cheeks. “It’s not my fault that you didn’t have enough water, how was I to know? You didn’t tell me!”

“Forgive me,” he snarled, wheeling about to face her head on. “For not emphasising common sense known to even the youngest elflings. Eru, most _mortals_ know well enough to ration water on a journey!”

“Where I’m from, we don’t have to!” She shouted back.

Interest glimmered in his eyes. “And where is that, I wonder? This magical realm where water flows from trees at every turn, and mortals are more foolish even than normal?”

“You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

He scoffed, turning from her. “A liar and a trespasser. This is what the Valar send me. Keep your petty secrets, girl, they do not interest me. Rúmil,” he called. The other elf joined him and they walked off, talking quietly in their language.

Tornë, the last elf, regarded her for a long moment. Just when she thought he would stride off and join his kin, he reached for his own water skin at his hip and held it out to her, one eyebrow raised. She accepted it gratefully and took a long sip before handing it back. “Thank you,” she said genuinely, deciding that this elf was not so bad.

He nodded in recognition and gestured her in front of him. Aubrey smiled softly, happy to have found a tentative ally if nothing else.

o0o

They reached the promised river an hour before sundown, having made good time descending the valley. Aubrey rushed to the bank and immediately filled her water skin, swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of cold, refreshing water. The elves followed more sedately, drinking and cupping water to wash their faces.

Aubrey longed to simply strip and jump into the cool water; she could feel every inch of her skin was sweaty and grimy. The lines of her palms were ingrained with dirt and her scalp was thick with grease. She settled for washing her hands, face and neck, and scrubbing a few handfuls of icy water through her hair, and then slowly eased her boots off her aching feet.

She grimaced at the sight before her, dropping the boots on the riverbank beside her. Swollen blisters covered her feet and her toes and heels had been rubbed raw by the poorly-fitting boots. Small cuts on the bottom of her feet were inflamed with infection. A particularly bad sore on her left heel slowly oozed blood and sticky pus.

Wincing, she lowered her feet into the river, and after the initial agony of the freezing water, allowed the cold river to soothe and numb the flesh. She heard someone approaching and looked back over her shoulder; Haldir stood over her, a small leather bag in his hand.

“You were foolish not to let me tend those when I offered,” he said gravely.

Aubrey set her jaw and met his gaze unflinchingly. “You were being rude.”

“You were proud, and you have suffered for it. Apologise now, and allow me to aide you.” He said firmly.

Aubrey spluttered, astonished by his sheer arrogance. “Can you even hear yourself? Apologise, and you’ll heal me? Get stuffed.”

His eyes darkened. “You would walk another day in agony because you are too proud to apologise to me?”

“I have nothing to apologise for!” She cried. “You’ve been rude, dismissive and downright disrespectful to me. And now, you refuse to help me unless I bow to you?”

He crouched beside her, hot anger in his silvery-blue eyes. “I am a Marchwarden of Lórien,” he said. “You should bow to me regardless.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are. I won’t apologise to you.” She told him, lifting her chin.

“Then you will remain as you are. I will not slow my pace for your comfort.”

“I don’t care,” she said defiantly.

He smiled, then, a cold, satisfied smile that sent a shiver down her spine. “You will,” he promised her. “You will beg me to help you before we reach Caras Galadhon. And then you will see where your pride has led.”

“I would walk to the end of the earth before I begged you for anything,” she said softly, and marched away.

o0o

They spent the night by the river, camping on the banks as there were no nearby flets. Rúmil had observed the argument between his brother and the mortal with interest. It usually took a good deal to rile the stoic Marchwarden, yet this young girl managed it with a few words.

Though unable to understand their heated fight, Rúmil had gathered the meaning by the bag of medical supplies in Haldir’s hand and the girl’s refusal to let him treat her. She stormed away from the furious elf, her head raised proudly. Rúmil couldn’t help the stir of admiration he felt for the girl; he knew how much courage it could take to stand against Haldir.

When she had vanished around a large rock at the waterside, he walked over to his brother, noticing that the Marchwarden’s hands were clenched into tight fists. “Brother? Are you alright?” Rúmil questioned.

Suddenly, like an arrow flying from a bowstring, Haldir whirled, throwing the bag of healing supplies as hard as he could. The bag flew across the clearing and hit a young mallorn hard enough to make the tree quiver. Rúmil stared at his brother, alarmed. “Haldir?”

“She should never have come here,” Haldir said, his words clipped and harsh. “We should have left her for dead on the plains.”

Taking up his quiver and bow, he strode from the clearing, his cloak swirling in his wake.

o0o

They stayed the night by the river. Aubrey had taken the opportunity to bathe in the river whilst Haldir had been gone and felt far better for it. He returned after sunset, sweeping silently into the camp Rúmil and Tornë had set up, a dead rabbit hanging from one hand. The rabbit had been shot cleanly through the eye by a long, white-feathered arrow.

The elves greeted him enthusiastically and stoked the small fire they had created into a larger blaze. Aubrey found herself staring, morbidly fascinated, as they skinned and gutted the rabbit. Though certainly not a vegetarian, she had never observed an animal being butchered before. It stood to reason, though, that in this seemingly medieval place, the inhabitants would hunt for food. The elves dealt with the kill quickly and soon had it speared above the fire, cut into small sections so as to cook quickly.

The delicious scent of the rabbit cooking drew Aubrey closer to the fire until she sat directly between Rúmil and Tornë. Rúmil wordlessly passed her a piece of rabbit once it was cooked, which she took eagerly. The meat was surprisingly tender, and they had flavoured it with some kind of herbs that gave it a fragrant, slightly spicy taste. Aubrey devoured her piece in moments, then sat nibbling at the meat left behind on the bone.

The atmosphere around the campfire was relaxed and almost comfortable, and Aubrey felt herself beginning to feel drowsy. She leant back on her elbows, drawing her cloak close around her like a blanket. She looked up and accidentally met Haldir’s eyes across the fire. The firelight washed his handsome face in pale golden light and lit his silvery hair into a white-gold flame. He looked like an angel, Aubrey thought. She felt his gaze on her warmer than the heat of the fire, and for a moment she felt certain he could read every thought and feeling she had. Then the light flickered and shifted, throwing his face into shadow, and the moment was gone.

She turned away and lay down, curling up with her back to the fire. One of the elves—Rúmil, she thought—began to sing, a slow, lazy song in their lyrical language. She fell asleep to his easy lullaby, the image of Haldir’s eyes burning into her still.


	3. Chapter 3

Aubrey awoke just before dawn. She shivered; even with the faint heat of the dying embers, the forest floor was cool, and an icy breeze blew off the river. She looked across the remains of the fire and blinked, shocked. Rúmil and Haldir stood a few metres away with their backs to her, talking quietly, but Tornë was still asleep.

She found herself staring at the slumbering elf. He was perfectly still, his appearance flawless, save for a lock of his long hair that had fallen across his cheek. What drew her gaze, though, was his eyes. They were open, but glassy and unfocused. She remembered countless cop shows and dramas, how a chill had always stolen over her at the gleaming, empty eyes of the dead. Fear seized her heart for the kind elf who had offered her water the day before, and she scrambled up.

"Rúmil!" She called. "Haldir!"

The two elves spun at the sound of their names, Rúmil's hand going to the long bow at his back while Haldir touched a hand to his sword. Before either of them could speak, though, Tornë sat up, a small dagger in his hand. He looked at her questioningly, not seeing a cause for her outburst.

"You—" she spluttered, nonplussed. "Your eyes—you sleep with . . ."

Haldir sighed and shook his head, giving a terse command in his own language. "Get up, mortal," he commanded. "We move out."

"But—"

"Yes?"

She subsided, her eyes going from Tornë to his irate fellow. "Nothing," she muttered, a slow flush creeping up her neck.

With a last scathing look, Haldir turned on his heel and strode from the clearing, collecting his back and bow as he left. Rúmil soon joined him, but Tornë waited until she had hastily gathered her belongings, what little they were. Tucking her re-filled water skin into a loop on the belt she'd been given and regretfully easing her tortured feet into her boots, she gritted her teeth and followed after her three guides.

o0o

Late on the third day, they climbed a steep incline and paused on a rise, the forest opening out around them. Haldir, who had not spoken a word to Aubrey all day, turned to her now. "Look yonder," he said, holding an arm out in a grand gesture.

She followed his sight, and saw what it was he pointed out. She gasped, astonished at the sight. Rising out of the forest below them was a great hill and upon it many trees. They were greater than any of the trees they had walked beneath in their journey, and would have dwarfed even the gigantic redwood pines Aubrey had once seen in California.

In the fading light of the evening, she could see blue-white lights shining from the trees as though the stars themselves had been set among their branches. "This," Haldir said, a note of fierce pride in his voice, "is Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom in Arda and the city of light. Home of Lord Celeborn the wise, and Galadriel, Lady of light."

For a minute, watching the pride and love he held for his city, Aubrey saw a decency in the elf, a noble bearing to him, and was reminded of the night by the fire when he had seemed golden and beautiful. Then he turned back to them, a hard caste to his strong jaw, and bade them hurry. "We may reach the city by nightfall," he said. "If we do not delay."

The climb up to the city was unforgivingly steep and he pushed them harder than ever before until Aubrey was at the very limits of her endurance. She paused, her hands on her hips, desperately gasping in air.

"Come, mortal," Haldir called back from the front of the group.

He bent at the waist, resting her hands on her knees. "They—better—have . . . beds—in this—city," she gasped.

" _If not, you'll surely be welcomed in Rúmil's,"_ Tornë murmured. Both elves laughed loudly, and though he gave only a smirk, Haldir did not attempt to stop their levity.

"The more time you waste whining, the longer it shall be before we all may rest. Now come."

When at last they came in sight of a tall, beautifully carved gate, night had fallen. Her legs ached terribly and she was bent double to catch her breath. Her feet were in such agony that every step sent a grimace of pain across her face. Two elves guarded the gate, one at either side, each holding a tall spear. They nodded to Haldir and waved the party through.

Aubrey looked up, and immediately her breath was stolen in a harsh gasp. Never had she seen a place more beautiful than this. Trees the height and breadth of sky-scrapers reached up into the night sky, spiral-staircases twining around them. She saw what looked like elaborate tree-houses built upon the mighty trunks, bridges and stairs joining the levels of the city. If she tilted her head back, she could count at least fifteen levels of buildings in the trees, and more beyond that she could not make out in the dark.

Everywhere, crystal lanterns hung from the trees, the staircases, the houses, bathing the city in soft light. There was faint music in the air, beautiful singing ringing from each level of the settlement, and though every song was different, they somehow blended together into a gorgeous harmony.  _If I believed in a heaven,_  Aubrey thought,  _this would be it._

A shout of delight broke through her musing and she turned in time to see a female elf running straight towards them. Her blonde hair danced behind her like moonlight upon dark water, her face was beautiful and animated with joy. " _Tornë!"_  She cried happily, leaping into the elf's arms. He embraced her and spun her around delightedly, their laughter mingling. When he set her down they kissed, and Aubrey looked away, embarrassed to watch the intimate greeting.

Haldir regarded her with a raised eyebrow and gestured wordlessly for her to follow him. He led her towards the nearest tree and began to climb the staircase. Aubrey paused, marvelling at the intricate carvings upon the stairs. Each wooden stair was carved with a leaf and vine motif that was echoed in the smoothly carved stair rail. Lanterns were set at regular intervals upon the stairwell, illuminating the gorgeous architecture.

"Come on," Haldir said brusquely, "I have not got all night."

Aubrey frowned. "I was just—I was looking at the carvings. They're beautiful," she said honestly.

His eyes softened then, and he nodded cautiously. "Indeed they are."

They did not speak as they climbed, Haldir not complaining when Aubrey stopped frequently to catch her breath. Beautiful the city may be, but a vertical layout had only one way to advance—up.

By the time they reached the top of the tree, black lights were swimming in Aubrey's vision and her legs and feet were screaming with exertion. All of the buildings they had passed had been beautiful, designed in the same elegant, flowing style as the stairs themselves. The building before them, however, was more magnificent and beautiful than any other.

A small bridge, perhaps a foot wide, led from the top of the stairway to the building. Aubrey paused, giving the bridge a leery glance. She'd never been afraid of heights, but well over a hundred feet in the air she would have appreciated a handrail. Haldir led her over the slender causeway to the open entrance of the building and then stepped back, gesturing that she should go forwards first. Unsteady with exhaustion and trepidation, Aubrey stepped into the room.

It was open to the air and yet sheltered and warm, and had the look of a receiving-chamber or throne room. At the back of the room, a staircase twisted away into the upper levels of the house. Just as she was about to tell her guide that if he was going to lead her up any more stairs she might collapse, or cry, a soft luminescence appeared upon the stairs.

Slowly, the light grew brighter, and Aubrey blinked. She saw that the light came not from another lantern, but from a pair of elves descending the stair. Her jaw dropped in amazement as the two fairest people she had ever seen walked towards her. The man was very tall, as tall as Haldir, and had a wise, ageless face. His hair was the same silver as the Marchwarden's, but he wore flowing silver robes. The woman was as tall as the man and had long hair of pure, shining gold. Her dress was white and her eyes were ancient. For the first time, Aubrey considered that Haldir calling her 'mortal' may genuinely imply the opposite of his race.

She saw that Haldir had fallen into a respectful bow, and stumbled into an awkward curtsey. When she straightened, the couple were both staring directly at her. "Greetings, Aubrey. I am Galadriel, and this is Celeborn. We welcome you. You have travelled far to come here, child." The woman said. Her voice was warm, and Aubrey felt immediately comforted.

"Where am I?" She asked quietly, the question that had burned within her since her arrival.

The woman smiled. "You are in Caras Galadhon, in Lórien. In answer to your true question: another world."

Aubrey swallowed. "That's not possible."

This time, the man spoke. "Many things in which you do not believe are possible."

"How do I get home?" she asked.

The woman smiled sadly. "You cannot. This door, once closed, is closed forever."

"That's not right," Aubrey insisted. "I  _need_ to get back."  _Evan._

"Child, you cannot. Your life is here, now, for better or worse." The elven woman spoke with such finality that Aubrey went numb, her mind blanking with the certain knowledge that the woman spoke the truth.

"What can I do?" She whispered.

The woman moved forward and took her hands gently. "Everything is for a purpose, dear one. You will live with us, in Lórien, and come to call it home."

Aubrey found herself nodding slowly. She was reduced to the most basic of functions, focusing solely on her sore feet and her weary body. "Thank you," she said dully.

"Luriel will take you to a guest talan until one can be found for you," the woman went on. An elf woman stepped forwards and took Aubrey's arm, beginning to guide her away.

Aubrey allowed herself to be led, not paying attention to her surroundings. As she walked, she made a vow to herself.  _I will get home. I will find a way._

o0o

Haldir made to follow after the mortal and the elleth guiding her, when a call stopped him. "A moment, Haldir," Galadriel said, slipping easily into Sindarin.

He turned and stood to attention. "My Lady," he said.

"It is a dangerous world our young mortal finds herself so unexpectedly in," the Lady said.

He nodded, perplexed. "That it is."

"I foresee her being vital to us, though I do not yet know how." Galadriel revealed. Haldir hid a frown; he could as easily imagine an orc being a useful citizen of Caras Galadhon as the proud, stubborn mortal he had dragged through Lórien. Galadriel's wry gaze told him she was aware of his feelings, but she did not comment. "As such, she must be protected."

Finding it ever harder to remain stoic, Haldir bowed. "As you say, My Lady."

"Therefore," Galadriel pressed, "I would have her trained to defend herself. She must learn swordplay, and archery. I trust you are equal to his task?"

Unable to hide his shock or dismay, Haldir stared at his leaders. "Me? You wish  _me_  to train . .  _. her?"_

"Yes. You have trained countless before."

"Elves! Capable, eager elves who worked hard and relished their training. Not lost mortals who let their stubborn pride rule their every move!" He cried.

Galadriel laughed, a golden sound that could not help but ease his heart. "Oh, my Marchwarden, you have grown cynical. Train this girl in all you can. I give you leave of the borders for as long as this takes."

Setting his jaw, Haldir sketched a stiff bow and turned on his heel to leave. "Yes, my Lady. My Lord," he said.

Galadriel called after him, her voice stern, "Do not close your heart to change, Haldir. Even the briefest lives can bring the greatest change, and this mortal will be good for you, if you allow her to be herself."

_If I allow that,_  he thought grimly,  _I may kill her myself._


	4. Chapter 4

A loud, insistent  _thudding_  broke through the fabric of Aubrey's dream and she sat up, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. It took her several disoriented seconds to place where she was: within one of the carved wooden houses in Lórien. A talan, Galadriel had called the structure.

It was certainly not what she would have expected from a glorified treehouse. The building was circular, built on one level around a sturdy limb of the tree. Though not as thick as the magnificent central trunk, the branch that supported her talan was still wider than an oak tree. The branch was a central column within the house, growing through the centre of the sitting room. Elegant doorways and arches led into a small study, a well-stocked larder, a wash room and a bedroom.

The thudding sounded again, jerking Aubrey from her thoughts. She realised the noise was someone knocking on her front door, and hurried to answer it. "Sorry," she called, pulling the door open wide.

"I was beginning to wonder whether you yet lived," Haldir said waspishly.

Aubrey's face fell dramatically. "You," she said.

"Indeed," he replied, with matching enthusiasm. "Me."

"What do you want?" She demanded. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a sweeping look, taking in her bed-mussed hair and her new attire.

The elf who had led her to the talan the night before had given her a tall pile of new clothes, including the night clothes she currently wore: a thin, white chemise that fell to her knees, sewed out of a material lighter than silk. Haldir seemed to approve greatly of the garment; more so than he did of her at any rate. Noticing his smug interest, Aubrey ducked quickly behind the door and fixed him with a heated glare.

His smirk grew. "The Lady Galadriel has asked that I train you," he said.

She blinked. "You  _what?"_

His smirk flattened into a thin line. "Believe me, mortal, I am as pleased as you. But I will not disobey the Lady, and nor shall you. Dress, and meet me at the training grounds in fifteen minutes." He turned on his heel and strode away before she could stop him, the morning sun shining on his silver hair.

Furious and alarmed, Aubrey slammed the door and leaned back against it _. If I never see that bastard again,_  she thought _, it will be too soon_. He mocked her every effort and seemed to despise her for being 'mortal'. The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time under his direction, especially learning from him.

A tear touched her lower lashes and fell to the smooth wooden floor of the talan. She stared down at the perfect, dark circle the water left, mildly surprised. Seeing her own tears made this place more real than even her scraped, bloody feet had. She settled her head back against the door and sighed heavily. She sensed that this itself was a test—would she give in at this first hurdle?

 _No_. If she couldn't beat Haldir, she would force him to respect her as he seemed to respect the elves under his command. And the only way to do that was to prove that 'mortals' could be as capable as any elf.  _I won't let him win,_  she vowed, standing and crossing into her bedroom.

She examined the clothes she had been given the night before; there were several long, flowing dresses with trailing sleeves and intricate embroidery. They were gorgeous, certainly, but not exactly her style—and definitely not appropriate for training. Setting the dresses aside, she found many pairs of leggings and shirts.

With a satisfied smile, she dressed, infinitely relieved to find a garment similar to her chemise-style night gown, but shorter and stiffened around the chest to support her cleavage as well as any bra. On top of that, she donned a white silk undershirt, charcoal leggings woven from a cloth that was both stretchy and durable, and a sturdy green over-tunic. There was also, to her delight, a pair of boots left for her. Unlike the worn boots she had borrowed on the way to the city, they were new and supple and fit her perfectly, the leather seeming to mold itself to support her feet..

It was not until she stepped out of the door, feeling a surge of confidence and optimism in her new clothes, that she realised she had absolutely no idea where the training grounds were.

o0o

Haldir had deliberately neglected to give the mortal any directions to the training fields. It was his first test for her; like it or not, she was his pupil now, and no pupil of his would get by without using their wits. If she could not use what basic ingenuity her kind had to find the training ground on her own, there was no hope for her, lessons or not.

It was with mild surprise that he looked up to see her walk uncertainly onto the field half an hour later. He waited silently in the shadows, observing. Clothed in the garb of his people, she looked far less lost than she had before in those ridiculous checked clothes, and her dark blonde hair was braided neatly back away from her face. She carried herself well, he admitted, even nervous and uncertain as she was.

He watched as her eyes strayed to the wardens practicing on the far side of the field. A dozen or so worked at archery, drawing the powerful Galadhrim bows with ease and assurance. What caught the mortal's eyes, though, were the two ellyn sparring with swords. They moved quickly and lithely, turning their practise into a dance of blades. Haldir observed with an approving eye; all of his wardens were highly skilled—they had to be, simply to make the force, but these two fought with a grace that was pleasing to see even among his ranks.

He stepped forwards, catching the mortal's attention with the movement. She started and turned to face him, her eyes wide. "You're late," he said blandly.

Her brow creased, a familiar irritation rising in her green eyes. "You didn't tell me where to go! I had to ask around, and no one here speaks English!"

He made note of her strange name for the common tongue and offered her an inscrutable expression. "And yet you arrived."

"Yes," she admitted, disgruntled. "In the end, I just said your name until someone showed me where to go."

Careful to maintain a blank façade, Haldir had to admit to himself that he was slightly impressed with her solution. "Next time, do not be late," he said, simply to see the fury seethe in her eyes.

"What are we doing today?" She asked tightly. "Sword fighting? Archery?"

He snorted in derision. "Certainly not. Luriel may have tended your feet for you, but you have not the stamina for sword work. You will need to greatly improve your fitness before you may lift a sword—and you cannot run until your feet are fully healed."

"Archery, then?" She muttered.

Haldir outright laughed, observing her slender shoulders and thin arms. "If you believe you could draw a bow with your current strength then you are more foolish than proud. You will begin later, with a child's bow."

Her ears flamed, equally embarrassed and enraged. "You are determined for me to fail," she accused him.

"No," he said honestly. "I simply expect it." She was silent, then, but not the silence of the defeated. He sensed an iron determination within her, a will to prove him wrong. She would need it before he was done with her.

o0o

"Today, I shall teach you an essential skill you will need if you are to have any success as an archer. It is a delicate task, but it will not tax your fitness." Haldir said, striding over to a long, low bench sheltered by a canvas canopy.

Aubrey followed him, curious in spite of her herself. "What are we doing?" She asked.

He stepped aside, revealing a large bundle of sticks on the table beside a basket full of white feathers and a pot of tree resin. "Making arrows," he said.

Her heart sank. This was not the warrior training she had anticipated, and she could not help her disappointment at being assigned such a dull task on her first day. Still, she commiserated. It wasn't like she could do badly at this. "Great," she said belatedly, taking a seat across from the elf.

His raised eyebrows told her he was not for a second fooled, but he let her attitude drop. "The shafts have already been hardened and straightened, and fitted with arrowheads. All that remains for us to do is to fletch them."

He took an arrow from the pile and gestured for her to do the same. She marvelled at the size of it; it was far longer than she would have imagined an arrow to be. The metal head shone in the sunlight, catching her eye. She studied it carefully; the metal was shaped like a slender leaf, long and deadly sharp at the tip. She imagined something like that thudding into her and shuddered, looking back at her instructor.

Haldir had taken three feathers from the pile and withdrew a slender knife from his belt. He held it out to her and she took it hesitantly. The knife's metal blade was still warm from his touch, sending shivers up her arms. "Each feather must be cut precisely. If the fletching is bent or out of place, the arrow will not fly true, and that could mean the death of one my wardens," he told her seriously.

Aubrey focused with renewed concentration, following exactly the lines he cut in the feathers with her own knife. He did not praise her when she succeeded, but nodded approvingly when she showed him the three even fletchings she had cut.

"Next, you must carve a groove for each fletching to sit in. Like so . . . not there! Never carve along the grain," he told her sternly.

She set the arrow down, embarrassed by his harsh rebuke. "Why not?"

"You will split the arrow," he explained, his tone implying that she should have known.

A jovial call caught Haldir's attention and he looked up, over her shoulder. Aubrey watched as a wide smile broke across his face and he stood, grinning.  _"Mae govannen!"_  He called.

Aubrey frowned. The joyous expression lit his eyes and cast the dour shadow from his face, showing off his handsome features perfectly. He rounded the bench and hurried to meet two approaching elves. To her astonishment, when the three men met, they shared a warm embrace, talking rapidly in their language. One of the newcomers wandered closer and she saw that it was the elf who had walked with them through the woods—Rúmil, she recalled his name.

Haldir followed, talking quietly with the third elf. When the three reached the table, the third elf looked questioningly at her and spoke again to Haldir. The Marchwarden's reply was dismissive, but the third elf put a hand on his shoulder. With a sigh, Haldir turned to her and said, "This is Orophin. He welcomes you to our city, and bids you a good day."

Aubrey smiled at Orophin, setting down the arrow she had been working on. "Hi, Orophin. I'm Aubrey."

Haldir did not bother to translate the response, instead turning to Rúmil. Orophin sat beside her on the bench and took the arrow from the bench where she had left it. He examined her handy work and said, in heavily accented English, "Good."

Aubrey grinned. "Thank you!"

The elf smiled and turned to the Marchwarden. Haldir rolled his eyes at what Orophin said, but translated nevertheless, "He says you are skilled for a beginner, mortal."

"You know, I like your friends better than you," she told him serenely.

Haldir raised a slender brow, looking between the two elves. "These are my brothers, mortal."

Now that she looked, she could see definite similarities in the three. They all had the same silvery hair and pale skin, and she could see the same line to their jaws, though Rúmil and Orophin were shorter and Orophin especially was slighter. She frowned, considering. She found it hard to imagine Haldir as a brother. Being a sibling required a certain level of patience and tolerance that he seemed to lack, as well as an unconditional love. She could as soon imagine Haldir professing his admiration for 'mortals' as she could imagine him selflessly, patiently loving anyone.

Rúmil addressed his brothers in elvish, his suggestion drawing approving smiles from the other two. "Mortal," Haldir said, turning back to Aubrey. "You will stay here and continue to work; complete as many as you can but do not rush them for the sake of finishing. My brothers and I will be nearby."

So saying, they walked over to a clearing in the practise field and set out a ring with markers. Aubrey looked after them, curious despite herself. Rúmil drew a pair of slender long-knives from his belt whilst Haldir unsheathed his sword. Orophin moved to the edge of the ring and counted down, calling out for them to begin.

Rúmil moved first, leaping towards his brother, knives flashing. Aubrey could not supress a gasp of fear, certain that the daggers would find their mark and blood would stain the grass. Haldir stepped cleanly aside, whipping his sword up to catch the blow and throwing his brother back with ease. Aubrey saw that they were smiling, trading insults and jokes as well as blows.

She lost herself in the fight, following the smooth, flowing movements of the sparring elves. Her eye was drawn again and again to them, and, she had to admit, to Haldir. The elves had discarded their over-tunics and sparred in thin undershirts that showed easily the strong lines of their muscles. Aubrey allowed herself to admire the impressive breadth of Haldir's shoulders and the taught lines in his back and arms when he moved.

Realising that she was staring quite conspicuously, she tore her gaze from the brothers and went back to her work, trying to ignore the ring of steel on steel or Orophin's encouraging shouts. She focused on the methodical action of separating and trimming the feathers for fletching and setting them into carefully carved grooves on the shaft with the tree sap.

She worked until she had no feathers left and her hands were sticky and stained dark with resin. She looked up, startled to see that the sun had moved over the clearing as she worked, throwing her station into shadow. The three brothers had long since ceased their bout, and she could see no trace of them.

Behind her, a throat was cleared loudly. She whirled around, heart jumping in her chest. Haldir stood not six feet away, his arms folded across his chest. "Bloody hell," she gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You should be more aware of your surroundings," he said, stepping up to the table. Before she could snap a retort, he took an arrow from the pile she had completed. "Not terrible," he conceded, turning it over in his hands. "The balance is a fraction off, though. You have used too much resin."

She scoffed dismissively. "Come on. What difference does a fraction make?"

His face darkened and he shifted, so quickly that she did not see his hand move until the cold tip of the arrow was against her neck. "If I moved this arrow a  _fraction_ ," he said softly, "it would pierce your artery and you would bleed out on the ground."

He dropped the arrow but left his hand on her neck, his thumb pressed to her pulse point. She shuddered at his proximity, the heat of his hand on her neck and the memory of his swordplay that afternoon mingling in her brain. She clenched her jaw hard and looked away, unsure whether she could get away with slapping him away from her.

When he spoke again, his voice was low and deep. "When I tell you to do something, I tell you how to do it  _correctly_. There is only that way. A  _fraction_  could be the death of someone. A  _fraction_  is not acceptable. Do you understand, mortal?"

"Yes," she said tightly. She balled her hands into tight fists and stepped backwards, breathing heavily. His was an imposing presence, and his cold eyes chilled her with every rebuke. The day had not been the success she had hoped for.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised, a challenge. With a final glance at the arrows she had only moments ago been proud of, she turned and hurried away, back to the safety of her talan.

o0o

The bathing pools were deserted, Haldir found to his relief. Heated springs welled up beneath the west side of the city to fill half a dozen pools, each large and deep enough to comfortably swim in. The pools were open to the air and shielded by only thin, natural screens of undergrowth, but far enough from the rest of the city to offer some solitude.

This late at night, there were rarely other bathers, which was how Haldir preferred it. He was far from shy—if nothing else, living in close quarters with other wardens at the Fences quickly stripped the Galadhrim of any semblance of privacy—but he enjoyed taking the time to relax and think whilst bathing, something he could better accomplish alone.

He stripped off his outer tunic and undershirt, folding them neatly on a bench beside the pool. He sat and bent over to unlace his boots when he heard the barest whisper of bare feet on the ground. He turned quickly, just in time to grasp the wrist of the elf behind him. She laughed and pulled her wrist free, gazing obviously at his naked chest. "Good evening, Marchwarden," she greeted.

Haldir smiled, relaxing. "Luriel," he returned. "The pleasure is mine."

She smirked and reached out a finger to trace a line from his throat to his naval. "It certainly shall be, my Lord."

He returned her caress, swiftly undoing the ties at the front of her dress to cup her breast in one hand and her waist in the other. Luriel was a good friend of his and had often been his lover in the past; it was a casual arrangement that suited them both. Taking her slender waist in both hands he lifted her and spun around to sit on the bench once more, hoisting the elleth onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and teased the sensitive tip of his ear with her teeth while he traced kisses up the column of her throat.

"I heard," Luriel murmured, arching forwards against him, "that you spent the day with a mortal."

He grimaced, his lips stilling against her collar bone. "Yes," he admitted. "I taught the wretched girl how to feather arrow shafts."

Luriel laughed lightly. "Let us see what you can do with  _your_  arrow shaft, hmm?" So saying, she reached to loosen the ties of his leggings, her fingers brushing tantalisingly against his growing erection. He grunted in response, feeling the pent up frustration of weeks spent at the Border alone. His hand found Luriel's breast and he traced the outline of her nipple with his thumb, causing her to fumble at the ties of his leggings. He smirked, and repeated the action.

A muffled shriek cut through the still night, startling the two elves. Haldir looked up just in time to see a figure with dark blonde hair sprint away, her movements clumsy and awkward. He couldn't help but laugh; of all the people to come down to bathe late at night and catch him with Luriel, the mortal had been the one. He was certainly looking forward to their next training session.

"Haldir?" Luriel questioned, shifting in his lap.

Her movement against him pulled his attention back and he met her gaze with an easy smile. "It is nothing. Come, let us relax in the pool."

He stood and stepped out of his leggings, drawing Luriel's dress over her head. She reached down and took him in her hand firmly. "I hope you shall not relax  _too_  much," she said.

He rolled his eyes and stepped away, pulling her with him into the warm water. "Not at all, Luriel."

"After all," she grinned. "I have heard so much about the arrows of the Galadhrim."

He laughed again, drawing her close with an arm around her waist. "I will show you just how well I can shoot."


	5. Chapter 5

Aubrey saw Haldir as soon as she walked onto the training field the next day. He stood on the far side of the field, a great bow in his hand, facing another elf. Aubrey watched as he took an arrow from a quiver at his waist. He notched and loosed the arrow in one smooth movement too fast for her to see properly, sending it into the heart of a wooden disk tossed up by the other elf. The disk fell back to the earth, the arrow in its centre, directly in front of the second elf.

Blinking in surprise, Aubrey started forwards once more. She had taken a few archery classes before, and had even been reasonably good, but they had never done anything but shoot at a standing target. Though, she realised, if these elves were actually using archery in active fighting, it made sense to practise hitting moving targets.

Around the clearing she could see other archers practicing similarly useful drills. Archers ran up a wooden frame and jumped from the top, turning in the air to shoot a target set upon the frame as they fell. Further along, she saw archers blindfolded shooting at small disks that made a faint whistle when tossed through the air. Finally, she saw two elves stood about a hundred metres apart, each with a bow in his hand. To her alarm, she saw they aimed directly at each other. The first elf loosed his arrow and Aubrey watched, amazed, as the second elf shot it from the air.

Astonished by the skilful bowmen around her, she paused a few metres from where Haldir stood, observing the play of muscles in his shoulders when he drew back the bowstring. She flushed, remembering the sight of those shoulders bare the night before, a she-elf in his arms. Tempted to turn on her heel and flee so she would not have to look him in the eye after what she had observed the night before, Aubrey took a step back.

 _Too late_ , she thought ruefully when Haldir relaxed his bow and turned to her. "You are late again," he greeted.

"Whatever. Sorry. What are we doing today?" She asked hurriedly, eager to get away from his intense gaze. She couldn't meet his eyes without seeing them closed in bliss, the elf woman's hand closed around—

"Archery," he said, breaking her train of thought.

Aubrey looked doubtfully at the beautifully carved bow in his hand. It was as tall as her, if not taller, and recurved—to give it more power, she recalled. She wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to lift it, let alone draw back the string. "Uh—" she began, hesitant to admit any weakness.

Haldir's eyes glittered with dark amusement. "If the day comes that you are capable of using my bow, I shall stand before the Valar as genuinely impressed." He paced over to a long rack of bows in different sizes, walking to the very end before holding up a bow no longer than his arm. " _This_  is the bow you shall use. We use them to teach the elflings."

Embarrassed, Aubrey took the bow from him. It was a similar weight to bows she had used before, and covered in the same beautiful etching as Haldir's. He began to lead her away from the other archers towards a line of standing targets, similar to the ones she had used before. Satisfied that this was more her comfort zone, Aubrey paused beside Haldir about ten paces from the first target.

"You seem confident," he observed.

Desperate, suddenly, to prove her worth and that of all 'mortals', Aubrey nodded. "I've done archery before."

To her irritation, the expression that settled on Haldir's features was one of amusement. "Very well," he smiled. "Show me. Show me what mortals class as archery these days."

Nostrils flaring in anger, Aubrey lifted her bow. She took the arrow Haldir offered her and notched it carefully to the string, holding it in place with her index and middle finger as she had been taught. She took a deep breath and raised the bow, drawing back the arrow to her chin. She closed her left eye and squinted down the length of the arrow. She drew in a deep breath and loosed the arrow, watching it fly. It struck the very edge of the target, but not hard enough to embed into the wood. She wrinkled her nose when it fell to the ground, but was not displeased with the attempt, taking into account the five years it had been since she took an archery class.

Haldir cleared his throat beside her and she turned to meet his eyes. "Well?"

He looked at her, brows raised. "Well, if that had been an orc, you would have grazed his shoulder. And then he would have killed you."

Her anger rushed back to her and she clenched her hands around the bow. "Oh, come off it! I hit the target, didn't I?"

"Your technique was dire," he said flatly.

"What? I did it exactly how I was taught!" She protested.

He scoffed. "Then you were poorly taught; not unexpected, from mortals."

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" She snapped.

"Do you wish to stand and insult me for being right, or shall I attempt to teach you the correct way?" He asked icily.

With a supreme effort, Aubrey swallowed her ire. "Go on then," she said tightly.

"Raise your bow," he said.

She did so, feeling rather foolish. Without warning, he took her hand where she grasped the bow and moved it minutely. "Higher grip will give you more control," he murmured. He nudged her foot with his. "This leg back slightly. Yes, there." He reached into the quiver at his waist and withdrew another arrow, handing it to her.

"Why do you use a waist quiver, instead of one on your back?" She asked.

He glanced at her, seeming surprised by a genuine question with no hostility. "It is faster to draw arrows from the waist in battle. Notch your arrow, mortal." Narrowing her eyes at the term, she nonetheless notched the arrow, unsurprised when he halted her once more. "Draw your arrow with three fingers, not two."

"But—"

"Don't waste my time arguing with me," he snapped. "I have been using a bow for longer than you can possibly imagine. Three fingers will give you the control and power you lack."

She adjusted her hand, frowning at the unfamiliar grip. At his nod, she drew the arrow back. "So you really  _are_  immortal?" She asked.

He nodded tersely. "Of course. Put your arrow right around the bow, not left. If you place your arrow that way, you must adjust your hand before loosing. It is faster to draw the arrow against the right side of the bow."

She moved the arrow to the other side of the bow, frowning at how it suddenly slipped and bounced against the wood. "It won't stay there," she complained.

"Of course not; practise is required to master this technique, but it is faster and more powerful when used in battle." He said.

"I'll take your word for it. So,  _immortal_ , immortal?" She pressed.

He sighed heavily. "What is your fascination with my immortality? It is something you can never comprehend."

"I'm so sorry for being curious," she said, sarcasm heavy in her words. "It must pain you so much to put up with a mere  _mortal._ "

He gave her a frosty glance and turned back to the target. "Again. This time, the correct stance."

She raised the bow and notched the arrow, drawing it back to her chin. "Like this?"

"Your aim will be improved with a better anchor point," Haldir observed.

She frowned, confused. "What's that?"

"You draw your arrow to your chin," he pointed out. "Draw it to your cheek, the corner of your mouth."

She pulled the string harder and succeeded only in making her fingertips burn. "I can't pull it back further," she said, frustrated.

With no warning whatsoever, he stepped forwards to stand flush against her back, his arms moving to encircle her, his hands resting on top of hers. "Bring this shoulder back," he said quietly, squeezing the hand that rested on her bow. His voice was quiet and clinical, almost cold.

Aubrey, on the other hand, was quickly going into meltdown. The space between them was all but non-existent, yet that millimetre of air was almost worse than if he'd pressed his chest against her back. This way, the space between them boiled with tension, like a thunderstorm about to break. She couldn't get the image of him with the she-elf the night before from her mind, could not stop seeing him arch his back against her, cup her breasts—

"Here," he said. "The fletching should be just here, against your lips. Almost a kiss . . ."

His fingers brushed against her cheek, startlingly warm in contrast to the cool brush of the fletching. She stiffened, heart pounding. She felt him chuckle and he leaned down so that his lips were only a hairsbreadth from her ear. "Does the idea of sex alarm you so much, little mortal?"

Her cheeks flaming, she pulled roughly away from him, her bow dropping to her side. "What do you—you  _saw_  me?" She realised suddenly, her blush deepening still further.

"But of course," he said easily. "You certainly saw  _me_."

She looked away, unable to bear the amusement in his silvery eyes. "I didn't know—I didn't realise you were with someone—that you had a, uh, partner—"

"I do not," he said simply.

Aubrey blinked. "B-but, I saw y—" she stammered.

He laughed, then, a loud, carefree sound that made her shudder. "A casual arrangement, nothing more. Do the mortals of your realm not engage in such activities? Such a dull life you must lead."

She glared hotly up at him. "I'm not saying that!"

"So mortals have casual sex? Why, then, did last night alarm you so?" He pressed. His eyes gleamed like a cat's, seconds from capturing a frightened bird.

"Casual sex doesn't alarm me." She said firmly.

He grinned, as though she had said exactly what he had hoped for. "Then it is  _me_  that alarms you. The idea of  _me_  having sex."

She gave him a sharp smile, setting her jaw firmly. "Not alarming. Just unlikely, with your sunny disposition. Are we doing any more archery, or are we done?"

His nostrils flared, the only sign of his anger, and he nodded stiffly. "We are most definitely done. Do not be late tomorrow—it will be the worse for you if you are."

She walked away with her head held high, her bow balanced jauntily on her shoulder, beaming at the feeling of leaving an argument as the victor.

o0o

Apart from walking in on the stern Marchwarden getting it on, Aubrey's evening the night before had been fairly pleasant. She'd washed in the basin in her talan and changed into a clean tunic, before making herself a small meal of fruit, bread and cheese from the larder.

She had decided, however, to seek out the main dining hall where there was hot food, and many elves ate together. If she was indeed to stay in Lórien, she was resolved to make some friends. She began to regret this decision when she walked into the large hall and what felt like every elf in Lórien turned to stare at her.

Built high in the trees, the dining hall was really one extended platform supported by four trees. It was at least the size of a football field, if not larger. What Aubrey at first took to be pillars rising up throughout the room were in fact branches, twined with emerald ivy. The canopy of golden leaves shaded the hall and bathed the diners in pale, green-gold light. Long benches stretched from end to end, place settings at regular intervals and large bowls of food in the middle for elves to help themselves.

At a glance, Aubrey would have estimated there were between two and three hundred elves dining when she walked in. They sat in groups, clustered together, talking and laughing. Some sang, or plucked idly at small lyres.

She bit her lip nervously; there were many free spaces in the vast hall, but she did not want to sit too close to the elves and seem nosy, or too far and seem aloof. She dithered, wandering down the wide isle between two benches, when she suddenly heard a word of English in amongst the low hum of lilting elvish. "Human!" Someone called.

She looked sharply to her left and saw a female elf sat alone on the edge of a small group, a calculating gaze on her face. Aubrey frowned and pointed nervously to herself.  _As if there are any other humans in an elven city._  The she-elf nodded and beckoned her.

Self-consciously, Aubrey edged forwards and took a seat at the table opposite the elf. She gave a tentative smile; 'human' was certainly a step up from 'mortal', if nothing else. "Um, hi," she said.

"Good day. You are the one the Marchwarden retrieved?" the elf replied.

Grimacing at the mention of the arrogant elf, Aubrey nodded. "That's me."

"Indeed . . ." the elf murmured, leaning forward and scrutinising her. "Forgive me," she said after a long, awkward pause. "I have never before met a human."

Aubrey frowned. "Then how do you know English? Uh, Common?"

The elf smiled proudly. "I am a scholar. I have studied the languages of men and dwarves in the hope that one day, I may be fortunate enough to encounter one."

"Glad I could tick that off your bucket list. I have to say, compared to the elves I travelled with, you seem a lot less—" she trailed off, unsure how to phrase her comment.

"Prejudiced?" the elf suggested with a wry smile.

"Well, I was going to say rude, but we'll go with that. I'm Aubrey," she introduced herself.

The elf pressed a hand to her breast and extended it in what Aubrey assumed was an elven version of a handshake. "I am Ilye. It is nice to make your acquaintance."

"It's nice to have someone to talk to in this place. It's . . . so strange here," she said, craning her neck to look up at the leaves above them.

Ilye passed her a roll and nodded her towards a large basin of soup to her left. "The soup is good. Tell me, what is your world like? I have heard that you come from another world."

Aubrey nodded, ladling soup into a small wooden bowl. "I do. It's—it's so different, I would not know where to start. We live in towns and cities, mostly, but not like this. The buildings are made of stone, and we have something called electricity to power them. Don't ask, I don't know how I would begin to explain it. I think the biggest difference is the way people live; our jobs are mostly service, and life seems faster paced."

"Perhaps," Ilye observed, "that is a symptom of mortality, not of your realm. I have always observed human lives to be hurried things; you rush to fill your days with as much as possible whilst you can."

Aubrey nodded, taking a sip of the soup. She nearly moaned; it was thick and rich and creamy and seemed to warm her from head to toe. "I suppose you're right."

"Tell me of  _your_  life,  _mellon nin_. What is it that you do?" Ilye asked.

Somewhat flattered by the she-elf's fascination, Aubrey said, "I worked in a museum, as an archivist."

"Ah! We have archivists, I have worked with them closely. Perhaps you could speak with them? Though I do not know how good their Westron is," Ilye said thoughtfully. "What else did you do? For fun?"

"Um, I was a musician," Aubrey said. Her hand went to the necklace hidden beneath her tunic, fingering the smooth wood. "I played the cello, and the flute."

Recognition flared in the elf's eyes. "We have flutes here, though cellos are not common. We must find you a flute, that you may play for us," she smiled.

Aubrey flushed. "I don't know about that; I'm not that good."

"We shall see." Ilye's eyes darkened sympathetically and she murmured, "You must miss your family."

Aubrey swallowed thickly, staring down at her soup.  _Evan._  "Yes," she said softly. "I do."

"I am sorry," Ilye said genuinely. "Living as long as we do, it is common for us to be away from family for a long time. My mother and father have been in Rivendell for ninety years now, and may not return for centuries. But I know that I shall see them once more."

"I've not really had time to think about it," Aubrey confessed. "First, I was trekking through the damn forest for four days, and since I've been here . . . this city is so beautiful, and there's so much to take in—it's been a good distraction."

Her new friend looked up and sighed gently, noting the time on a sundial at the head of the table. "I would imagine that it is, to a newcomer. I must go. If you wish to talk, I am here most evenings, and otherwise I am in the records room.  _Namárië,_  Aubrey."

o0o

Haldir greeted Orophin warmly, stepping aside to invite his brother inside his talan. "It is good to see you, brother," he said.

Orophin smiled, looking around the talan. "I still think it unfair that your talan is so much larger than mine," he complained good naturedly.

"Then you should have earned my title," Haldir told him, a familiar answer to a familiar question. "How has your week been?"

Orophin said slyly, "I would say that it has been duller than yours."

Haldir disappeared into his larder, returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "I don't know what you mean."

"A mortal? At the Fences?" Orophin prodded.

The Marchwarden grimaced, handing a full glass to the elder of his two younger brothers. "What of her?"

"You needn't look quite so dour, I found her rather charming yesterday," Orophin said.

"Yes," Haldir agreed, sipping his wine, "but you do not understand her incessant chattering."

Orophin levelled him with a calculating look. "Rúmil said she had got under your skin."

"Rúmil is a fool," Haldir retorted.

"Well, we all knew that." Orophin replied airily.

Haldir laughed, re-filling his glass with the rich Dorwinion. He took a long drink and regarded the other elf with thoughtful eyes. Orophin was certainly the wiser of his two brothers, despite being only a hundred and twenty years older than Rúmil. "I cannot explain why she provokes such strong emotion in me, brother. She is so stubborn, and proud, and yet so young. I cannot understand her. She walked for four days on blistered, bleeding feet rather than apologising to me."

Orophin regarded him with raised brows. "Now, who does she remind me of?"

"She is nothing like me," Haldir scoffed.

"No indeed? I do not know an elf more stubborn."

The Marchwarden scowled at his sibling. "I am not stubborn, I am right."

"Ah, the two of you will get on so well," Orophin said dreamily.

"I used to think seventy years such a short time for them to live; now I cannot bear an hour in her company without wishing fondly for an orc to converse with." Haldir complained.

"Cheer up, brother," Orophin said genially. "At least she has a pretty face."

Haldir shook his head in exasperation. "You sound like Rúmil."

"Well, unlike you and Rúmil, I have bedded mortal women. And I happen to find them quite charming," Orophin said firmly.

"You are welcome to her," Haldir said. "Although from her reaction to seeing Luriel and I, she may yet be a maid."

Orophin curled his lip in annoyance; he had long preferred more experienced women. "How disappointing. Mind, if she is as stubborn and fiery as you say, I might enjoy the challenge."

"I will never know why you waste your time on those fleeting mayflies." Haldir shuddered.

"It is not as though I fall in love with them," Orophin said. "I merely enjoy myself."

"I would find it hard to take pleasure with a woman destined to be dead before the next great feast." Haldir said.

The younger warden looked at him reproachfully. "If you're thinking of death while between the legs of a woman, one of you is doing something very wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

Aubrey stared up at Haldir, her features slack with disbelief. “Running. You want me to go _running_.”

“In fairness, mortal, I shall accompany you.” He said coolly.

“What about archery? Or . . . or anything else that isn’t running?” She asked, askance.

He glared at her. “Archery you shall practise in your own time, after noon. If you continue as I have directed, you shall steadily improve. I shall observe you every few days to ensure you adhere to my direction. Now we must build your fitness before you can begin to wield a sword.”

“But why?” She whined.

His silvery eyes were icy. “You question my methods? Little mortal, you have been placed under my instruction for good reason. Galadriel wishes you taught well, taught by the best, and I _am_ the best. You should thank the Valar that I waste my time with you when I could be defending the borders of this realm or training worthy elves.”

“Why bother, if it bugs you so much? Do us both a favour and go back to these borders, I certainly won’t miss you,” she hissed.

“Unlike you,” he sneered, “I value duty and respect. I gave my word that I would train you. Now _run_.”

Cursing him with every step, she began to jog around the training field. Aubrey _hated_ running. Aside sprinting for the odd bus, she had not run anywhere since her last, much-loathed cross country at school. At only twenty three, she was in her prime of fitness, and often hiked for hours on end in the dales around her home, but if she increased her pace to anything more than a jog it was not long before she was gasping. She was only four laps in to the fifteen Haldir had commanded when she began to flag. Her legs ached and her feet, not yet completely healed, began to hurt. Her lungs felt tight and each breath was harder than the last. It did not help that Haldir, running beside her, was serene, not even breathing heavily. He might as well have been sat down for all the effort he appeared to exert.

Doggedly determined not the give in and gift him one more thing to hold against her, Aubrey pushed on, blinking sweat from her eyes. Half way through her thirteenth lap, she stumbled and caught her boot on a knoll in the grass, going sprawling across the floor, face first. She grunted into the mossy grass, gasping for breath. _This is nice,_ she thought. _Lying down. I might just stay here._

“Get up,” Haldir said brusquely, pausing beside her prone form.

She groaned loudly, not raising her head. The bastard didn’t even sound out of breath after _thirteen_ laps. “I _can’t,_ ” she moaned.

He crouched beside her, resting his hand on the ground beside her head. “You are injured?” He asked.

“I’m _dying,_ ” she said dramatically, rolling over to face him. She squinted and shut her eyes against the harsh sunlight; it shone brightly in the clearing, glinting on the weapons of sparring elves.

Haldir frowned at her. “I am aware,” he said. “Mortals are all dying.”

“Harsh,” she muttered.

“—however,” he continued, “Unless the issue is currently pressing, we have another lap and a half to complete.”

Aubrey frowned, puzzled. There was something in his voice—she couldn’t place it. Her eyes snapped open in surprise. There, almost undetectable—a hint of _respect._ He was impressed that she’d carried on for so long, that she hadn’t stopped. _This is what ‘mortals’ can do._

With renewed vigour, determined not to lose what little grace she may have gained, she pushed herself to her feet and set off again. She pushed herself almost beyond her endurance on the last lap, forcing her legs faster. She was almost choking on each breath, so breathless was she. When she finally passed the marker—her discarded outer tunic—she sank to her knees, shoulders heaving, and grabbed at the water skin beneath her tunic. She gulped down half of the water in one go, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

Her legs burned and she felt filthy; she felt a bead of sweat slide down her spine and shivered, disgusted. Her small basin wouldn’t do for the day, she decided. _I’m having a bath, regardless of who’s there._

Haldir stood beside her, sipping delicately from his own water. “Walk around,” he advised her. “If you do not stretch your muscles, they will cramp, and you will be in more pain tomorrow.”

She stood with a sigh and stretched her arms above her head, beginning to pace in a slow circle. “Thanks,” she said, feeling her legs begin to loosen.

He nodded. Then, hesitantly, as if each word physically pained him, he said, “You kept up well.”

“I—thank you,” she said, surprised at the praise.

 _“Haldir!”_ a shrill voice cried.

They both turned sharply; a green and yellow blur hurtled towards them and launched itself at Haldir. Aubrey watched, eyes wide and jaw slack, as he laughed, catching the incoming missile with ease. Haldir swung the child around before embracing him quickly, their laughter mingling. The boy looked to be no more than six or seven, and was the most enchanting child Aubrey had ever seen.

She had always been rather indifferent to children, but this boy was positively angelic. His small face was perfect in every way, brightened by his laughter. His eyes were blue, and the cherubic image was completed by shoulder length blonde hair, loose around his head. Haldir set the boy down and ruffled his hair, greeting him in elvish. The boy beamed and replied.

Aubrey noticed his small, delicately pointed ears, and could not stop the soft noise she made. The child was simply so _cute_. Haldir looked up and met her eyes. His face was unusually warm, genuine affection in his eyes. “This is Roitar,” he said slowly. “He is the son of one of my wardens.”

“Nice to meet you, Roitar,” Aubrey smiled, uncaring that he would not understand her.

To her amazement, he beamed up at her and offered her the same gesture Ilye had extended, pressed his small hand to his heart and then extending it to her. “Nana teaches me some Westron,” he said delightedly.

Haldir smiled approvingly. _“Well spoken. You shall be fluent by the time you are old enough for braids.”_

Aubrey hid a small smile, understanding the praise in Haldir’s tone, if not his words. _Who knew?_ She thought. _He’s not a complete bastard._

 _“Haldir_ ,” Roitar continued, his small face bursting with pride, “ _Ada has given me a bow!”_

“ _Oh? And what is a little elfling like you going to do with a bow?”_ Haldir teased.

Roitar scowled at the Marchwarden. “ _I shall be the best archer in Lórien!”_ He proclaimed.

“ _Perhaps you shall,”_ Haldir smiled. “ _But I think Rúmil may hold on to that title for a little longer. Here: tomorrow, I shall be at the archery range after noon to teach this mortal. Perhaps you can show me this bow then, and we can figure out what to do with it?”_

Roitar beamed. “ _Oh, yes! Please, Haldir, say you will teach me!”_

_“I don’t know about that. Perhaps if you are very attentive.”_

_“I shall be!”_ He said swiftly.

 _“Then we have a deal, mellon nin. Now, if you will excuse me, my current pupil requires my attention.”_ Haldir said regretfully. Aubrey cocked her head, picking up his change in tone.

Roitar nodded enthusiastically, bounding away with the same enthusiasm that he had arrived with. Aubrey looked after him, an odd look on her face. “I’ve not seen a child before,” she said. “An elven child.”

Haldir sighed heavily, taking another drink. “They are not common. My people have children rarely, but when we do, they are precious to all. There are currently only three elflings in Lórien.”

 _“Three?_ Three kids in an entire city? How many adults are there?” She asked, incredulous.

He squinted, recalling. “There are between two and three thousand elves here. There is not an exact number; elves often travel to other realms to visit for a few decades—or centuries.”

“Still,” she said. “They must get lonely without many friends. He can’t be—what—seven?”

Haldir laughed; it was a cold, distant laugh that made her recoil. “Ah, I forget how little you know. Roitar is twenty nine, mortal.”

 _“What?_ That—that little kid is older than me?” She gasped. She simply could not comprehend such a small, innocent child could be older than her.

The Marchwarden shrugged. “Of course. Elflings age slowly compared to men; we reach maturity at the age of one hundred years.” 

Aubrey swallowed, looking over to where Roitar was running around the base of a tree, an adult chasing him happily. The elf’s laughter mingled with the child’s delighted shrieks. “He’ll . . . he’ll still be a child when I’m—” _dead_. She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Haldir gave her a calculating look. There was pity in his eyes, she saw, and she resented him bitterly for it. “And you wonder,” he said, “why we think that you are a child.”

o0o

Aubrey was on her way to the dining hall when she felt a sharp prickle at her temples and then heard a low, woman’s voice say _, ~Aubrey, come and speak with me. ~_

She flinched and turned sharply. She could not place the feeling of undeniable wrongness that invaded her for no apparent reason. _~You will find me on the forest floor, child, ~_ the voice continued.

It echoed oddly, and Aubrey whirled around, trying to find the source. A sick feeling rose in her stomach when she realised that she was alone. _I’m hearing voices,_ she thought with dread. _Voices, in my head._

Just as she was about to decide she had succumbed to either the insanity of the place or the exhaustion of Haldir’s training, the voice sounded again, this time amused. _~Peace, young one. It is Galadriel. You will find me at the base of the tree; I would speak with you. ~_

Feeling utterly ridiculous, and half expecting on elf—probably Rúmil—to leap from behind a pillar and laugh at her for being a foolish, gullible mortal, Aubrey descended the stairs.

Though the great staircases had never felt as long as that first night when she had dragged herself up, half-unconscious with fatigue, they were still vast, and it took her a good ten minutes to reach the base of the tree. She stretched her legs briefly when she reached the forest floor; even with descending to the floor every day to train and climbing back up to her talan afterwards, she suspected she would never get used to the climb. _No wonder all the elves have such great legs,_ she thought grumpily.

“Indeed? I thank you for the compliment,” came an amused voice from behind her.

Aubrey jumped and whirled around, heart thudding. Galadriel stood there, smiling softly. Her golden hair fell in gentle waves to her waste, glowing against her white dress. “It was you,” Aubrey gasped. “You spoke . . . in my head.”

Galadriel smiled softly. “Yes, child, I did. It is a gift of mine.”

Aubrey gaped, floored. It seemed bitterly unfair to her that elves got to be immortal, good looking, fast, strong—and apparently could do mental mojo as well. “How can I help you?” she croaked. It was undeniable; the beautiful woman scared her witless.

The Lady looked at her, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Do not fear me; I mean you no harm. I wish only to enquire how you are settling in. You have been with us a week now.”

Aubrey frowned, considering. “I haven’t really thought about it,” she admitted. “I’ve been pretty busy, with Haldir’s training.”

Galadriel nodded sagely. “I would imagine so. I am not blind to your feelings, dear Aubrey; I know that my desire for your training brought you no joy.”

“It’s not that,” Aubrey said hurriedly, not wanting to be an ingrate. “In fact it’s pretty cool. I always wanted to sword fight. Not that I actually _have_ , yet, but . . .” _but Haldir and I hate each other_ , she finished silently. Then, mortified, she flushed, remembering that Galadriel could read minds to some extent.

Galadriel laughed brightly at the young woman’s embarrassment. “Ah, my dear child, I know that Haldir can be difficult. Celeborn and I elevated him to his position when he was yet young, for we saw a great potential in him that he has indeed lived up to. Some would say that it has made him arrogant and prideful. I see those traits in him, to be sure, yet I know my Marchwarden’s heart; he is more aloof than truly proud.”

Aubrey looked away, her cheeks still burning. “I think he’s an ass,” she muttered.

Galadriel smiled indulgently. “You do not know him. I would not have appointed him if his heart was untrue.”

Aubrey said nothing to that, and by the time she turned back to Galadriel, the lady was gone.

o0o

Haldir stood at the very edge of the gathering-flet, the heels of his boots touching thin air at his back. In the middle of the wide flet, elves were dancing and singing and playing music, their laughter almost loud enough to drown out their flutes and harps.

The one he sought was in the middle of the thronged dancers, a beautiful maid on his arm. Haldir smirked; all three of the brothers had an eye for pretty ellith, but Orophin was most likely to approach them and flirt. Haldir preferred to wait for an elleth to come to him.

He paced forwards, the crowd of dancers parting before him like air before an arrow. He was never sure whether they moved out of respect for his station or fear of his temper. Orophin turned when he heard the break in laughter around him, his hands at the waist of the elleth he danced with.

“Brother,” he greeted jovially. “How may I serve you this night? Have you come to join our merry making?”

“Alas, no,” Haldir smiled. “My Lady, you will forgive me if I borrow Orophin. I must speak with him,” he addressed the elleth at Orophin’s side.

She blushed and looked away, nodding quickly. Orophin looked after her regretfully, turning to his brother with a scowl. “Could you not have waited until tomorrow morn?”

“When you hear what I need you for, you will see that I could not. Come,” he commanded, turning and striding from the flet. Orophin hurried after him, falling into step by his side.

The two ellyn walked side by side in silence, their almost inaudible steps muffled by the sounds of the forest at night. Below them, further down in the canopy, a pair of owls shouted out their courtship, and the heady sounds of insects mingled with the laughter and songs of dancing elves. Haldir lead them almost to the edge of the city, high into the canopy until they reached the very top of the city, higher even than the house of Galadriel and Celeborn, hundreds of feet above the forest floor. So high up, the branches swayed gently with the breeze, and the small flets were built to flex with the movement.

Haldir sat down on one such flet, motioning for Orophin to sit beside him. They sat side by side, casting their gazes over their forest. “So this is where you hide from us.” Orophin said quietly.

Haldir lay back, his face tipped up to gaze through the thin layer of leaves between them and the open sky. “You know how I love our Lórien. Sometimes, though . . . sometimes I long for the stars. They give me peace,” he said quietly.

“You did not take me all the way up here just to talk about stars, brother. What is it?”

The Marchwarden frowned. “I received a message this afternoon from Erundil.”

“He’s the—”

“Captain of Thranduil’s guard, yes. He warns that orc activity in Dol Guldur has increased dramatically. Raiding parties have been going further and further north. He asks if we have noted them moving south or west, and if not, warns us they may soon approach.”

Orophin stilled. “My patrol has not seen any extra activity,” he said.

“None have,” Haldir assured him. “But I fear that Erundil is right. We will not avoid this for long.”

“What is your plan? What are we going to do?”

“What can we do but remain vigilant? I do have an idea, but I must speak to the Lady before I act.”

Orophin nodded; he knew better than to ask for details on a plan that had not been sanctioned. “Do not despair, brother,” he said calmly. “Lórien will withstand far more than a few orc vermin.”

“You are a fool to underestimate them,” Haldir returned. “A few orcs are nothing—but there are never just a few. Dol Guldur has become a hive of the creatures. It is the type of infestation I have not seen since—” he broke off, his eyes falling closed. The cries of the Dagorlad echoed in his ears, nearly three thousand years from this moment in the forest. “You will return to the fences in four days,” he commanded. “Direct your patrol to scout the eastern border and be ever watchful, but do _not_ leave the trees.”


	7. Chapter 7

Aubrey woke to the sound of songbirds and bright sunlight streaming into the bedroom in her talan. She moaned softly, rolling over; her head was pounding like a bass drum and her face prickled with heat. She felt weak and sore and when she moved, she felt every single joint protest painfully.

She’d had ‘flu only once before, but easily recognised the symptoms. There was no way she was going to be lifting a bow, and just the thought of running around the training field made her want to weep. She drew her soft blankets up over her head and snuggled deeper into the soft bed. _Haldir will understand_ , she consoled herself. _And if not, he can deal with it._

o0o

Haldir waited for an hour before he finally lost his temper. He’d begun to warm to the mortal—slightly—impressed by her sheer determination in their training sessions, but he would not tolerate such insubordination. Who was she, to think she could leave him standing around for her, as though he had nothing to do but wait upon her?

He marched through the city, leaping up staircases and striding across bridges until he reached the door to her talan. He pounded upon the door, taking out some of his anger upon the poor wood, but received no answer. When she did not reply and he detected no sounds of movement within, his fury grew anew. _She thinks she can laze in bed all day, does she?_

Talan doors in Lórien had no lock, as no elf would steal from another citizen and privacy was respected as a matter of course; so Haldir merely shoved the door open and strode inside. He recoiled instantly, his senses assaulted with the rank stench of sickness.

A tiny sliver of concern glimmered within his rage before he quashed it and made his way into the girl’s sleeping chamber. He found her fast asleep, her blankets kicked aside.

“Mortal?” he called, walking to her bedside.

She shifted but did not wake. He bent down and placed his palm upon her brow. He frowned; her skin seared with heat and was clammy to the touch. He sat upon the bed and shook her shoulder gently. “Girl,” he called again.

She blinked, lifting a hand as though to shield her eyes from the sun. “Oh, _God,_ ” she moaned, rubbing her eyes. Her voice was thick and hoarse and her breath seemed laboured, as though she had been running.

“What ails you?” he asked, allowing her to turn her flushed face into the cool touch of his hand.

She shivered, reaching for a blanket to pull over her torso. “I’ve got ‘flu,” she said.

“What?”

“Flu!” She repeated. “Influenza, or a slow, painful death.”

He grasped her wrist, alarmed. “You will die?”

“What’s the matter?” she muttered, remembering his words the other day. “I thought ‘all mortals die’.”

“Be silent, girl. Is this illness life threatening?” He demanded, his hand still tight around her arm.

She sighed heavily. “No, it’s just very unpleasant. Have you never had ‘flu?”

“Elves do not suffer mortal illnesses.”

“Oh _, fuck off._ Are you serious? On top of everything, you don’t even get sick?” She whined.

He released her arm and considered her evenly. “We have ailments enough of our own.” He hesitated then, eyes narrowed in thought. “Is there . . . is there anything I can do for you?”

Surprised at his offer, she almost refused out of hand, but caught herself just in time. “Uh—could you get me some water?”

He nodded, stepping away from her bed. He found a glass in her kitchen and filled it at the basin in the wall. He heard her grunt with effort and saw when he walked back into her chamber that she’d shoved her pillows back and now sat leaned against them. She took the glass from him and sipped it gratefully, then pressed the side of the cool glass against her forehead. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He nodded briskly. “I could summon a healer for you, if you would like.”

“Don’t bother; there’s no way to treat ‘flu other than to let it run its course. Though I’m not going to lie—some aspirin would be nice.”

He smiled faintly. “I do not think we have that here.”

She blinked and met his eyes. She gazed steadily up at him, a vulnerability in her leaf-green irises that he’d not seen since her first night in the forest. “I want to go home,” she whispered, her fingers going to her neck to play with the leather cord she wore there. The wide neck of her nightgown left the necklace exposed, and he saw it for the first time—a cylindrical piece of wood with a hole bored through one end, the other flattening out into an oval shape. He looked closer and saw the letters E and A had been carved into the black wood.

“It’s a cello peg,” Aubrey informed him, noticing his interest. “I had it made into a necklace.”

“From an instrument,” he realised.

She nodded. “Uh huh. I’ve played since I was eight. I know that won’t seem long to you, Mr Immortal, but—”

“It is a commendable achievement,” he interrupted her, somewhat gruffly.

Her surprised look was interrupted by a bout of harsh, hacking coughing. She shuddered with each cough, arching forwards and clutching at her chest. Alarmed, he moved backwards, snatching her fallen glass from the air before it could shatter on the floor. When at last her coughing subsided, she looked up at him once more with bleary, red eyes. “Sorry about that,” she rasped.

“You cannot help it,” he said automatically. Then, setting her glass on the bedside table, he stood to leave. “You will excuse me; I have duties to attend to. I will see to it that food is brought to you; are you sure you do not require a healer?”

“What? Oh—no, I’ll get through it.”

He inclined his head marginally and strode from the room, shutting her front door firmly behind him.

o0o

She woke several hours later, when the sun had moved around to push soft, afternoon light into her room. She blinked in the golden light and looked up, startling at what she saw. An elf stood in the doorway of her chamber, an inquisitive tilt to her head. It took Aubrey’s fumbling mind a second to place her.

“Ilye,” she said, recognised the elf who’d welcomed her in Lórien’s massive dining area.

Ilye dipped her head. “Good afternoon, Aubrey.”

“What time is it?” She asked blearily, struggling into an upright position.

“Half past four. The Marchwarden informed me that you were ill, and might wish for company.”

“Surprisingly nice of him,” she commented, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

Ilye smiled softly, and pulled a chair up to her bedside. “Can I get you anything, _mellon nin?”_

Aubrey sighed heavily, suddenly desperately homesick. “I want my _mum,_ ” she moaned.

The elf blinked, stunned, before sympathy softened her beautiful face. “I am sorry, but that I cannot do. Would you like to tell me about her?”

“She’s a little like me,” she murmured, tracing her necklace. “She’s very stubborn, and neither of us likes to be wrong. We used to fight a lot about that. Neither of us could ever give up. When I was little, if I got sick, she was absolutely wonderful. She would cook my my favourite food, and then she’d put her pyjamas on and we’d sit in my bed together, watch films or read together.”

Ilye smiled. “I broke my leg once, when I was an elfling. I didn’t mind the pain too much, but I was horribly bored, unable to play. My Nana picked me up and sat me on her shoulders to walk around, and then she sat and read to me to pass the time. That was when she taught me to speak the common tongue.”

Aubrey was struck by a bolt of inspiration. “Oh! Ilye, you could teach me Elvish! I’ll be stuck in this bed for a while, if you’re not too busy, you could visit and start to teach me. Will you? Please say you will.”

The elleth laughed. “Of course I will, Aubrey, fear not. We can begin now, if you would like.”

“Please! I loved learning languages back . . . back home.” Her voice trailed off miserably, but she forced herself to smile, genuinely excited for her lesson.

“I warn you, Aubrey, Sindarin is not an easy language. It will take you a long time to gain any fluency, and it will be longer still before you are able to learn the Silvan dialects.” Ilye began.

She shook her head, jaw set. “I don’t care,” she said firmly. “I’m going to learn.”

Ilye smiled softly. “You are very determined. You truly love to learn, do you not?”

“More than anything,” Aubrey beamed. “I’ve told you that I’m an archivist. I work in a university library back home, and also do some work at a museum and the library. I read Old English and Latin, so I tend to mainly work with translating and archiving early medieval scripts—I’m so annoyed, I’d just started working on a gorgeous early Saxon bible when I got dumped here—but I did look over a few Nordic rune stones an archaeological dig found not far from my home.”

The elf looked faintly bemused by the unfamiliar names, but clearly recognised a fellow scholar. “When you are not busy running yourself ragged on a training field, I must take you to our libraries,” she said. “I can teach you to read Tengwar—our script—and I’m sure a position could be found for you there.”

“I’d love that,” she enthused. “I’ve never been so great at physical stuff—I don’t really enjoy it—but I’ve always loved to learn. It . . . it’d be nice to show Haldir that I’m not an incapable idiot, you know?”

Ilye’s smile bordered on devious. “Then I must teach you Sindarin without delay!”

o0o

Galadriel sighed and opened her eyes, the vision leaving her like mist clearing the forest on a winter morning.

Celeborn stood at her shoulder, one hand steadying her hip. “What did you see, _meleth?”_ he asked gently.

She sank back against him, the vision, as always, sapping her strength. “Aubrey,” she said, a smile playing about her lips. “She has asked Ilye to teach her our tongue.”

“Then she accepts that she must stay.”

She nodded, taking his hand. “Indeed she does. She misses her homeland, though. Something there ties her far more than the place itself.”

“A family member?” Celeborn suggested.

“That is likely, and yet . . .” she trailed off, gazing out across the forest, her eyes wide.

His arms tightened around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her temple. _“Meleth?”_

“I sensed something more than family. A duty, almost. All will be revealed eventually, for now we must wait. It will not be easy for the child to release whatever ties her to her home, she will need help before the end.”

o0o

By the third day of her illness, Aubrey was strong enough to get out of bed and sit on the open porch outside her talan. She loved to watch the comings and goings of the city, basking in the warm sun reflected by the golden mallorn leaves. Always, there was music. The elves seemed to breathe music, singing as they walked, or stopping to play one of their many instruments. Her hands began to ache to hold a cello; as she sat, she imagined the deep, mellow bass lines she would fit to the elves’ songs; the higher, clear notes she would tease from the strings.

Ilye often came to sit with her, dragging a chair outside to place opposite the low bench Aubrey occupied. On that third day, she sat on the very edge of the bench, one foot hanging over the edge of the platform into open air. She gazed down through the branches that obscured her view to the forest floor. The empty space was webbed with gently swaying walkways and she amused herself counting the telain she could see below her.

 _“Good morning!”_ The greeting, spoken in slow, exaggerated Sindarin, could only have been one person.

Looking up with a smile, Aubrey returned the greeting. _“Hello, Ilye!”_

The elf nodded her approval, switching back into English. “Your accent it improving.”

“I was practicing this morning. I think I’m starting to get it now.”

Ilye inclined her head. “You have certainly surpassed my expectations. Now, this morning you have another visitor. When I told a young pupil of mine that my friend was ill, he simply had to come and visit. Apparently, you’ve met.”

“Oh?” Aubrey frowned. Ilye had come every day, but apart from that, no one had come to see her in her bedridden exile. _They’re probably disgusted by human illness._

“Aubrey!” The voice was high and clear, and joyfully familiar.

She blinked, stunned, as a small form sprinted across the walkway onto the platform that held her talan. The child skidded to halt in front of her and paused, his cheeks flushed with exertion. “Roitar?” she gasped, recognising the cherubic boy.

He beamed, and reached a hand into a pocket of his tunic. “I have brought you a gift,” he said eagerly, pressing a small pebble into her hands.

She turned it over in her hands; it looked a little like quartz, with the same pink hue, and was perfectly smooth. “Thank you very much! Where did you find it?”

“In the healer’s telain, of course,” he said, looking at her oddly.

She looked helplessly to Ilye. “The stones hold a small portion of the forest’s power,” she smiled. “They promote healing, if given with good intent.”

Nodding, she turned back to the precious child. “Then thank you again. I’m sure I’ll feel better in no time. What does Ilye teach you?”

“The Common tongue, and some Rohirric. One day, I will be able to talk to anyone!” he enthused.

“What is Rohirric?” she frowned.            

“The language of the Rohirrim. Their homeland is just south of our borders, and we often trade with them. A noble people, they are courageous and bold. They breed the best horses in all of Arda, and are willing to sell them to us.” Ilye explained.

“Huh. I didn’t know elves bred horses,” she mused, turning the stone over in her hands.

Roitar gave her another look that indicated she’d made a glaringly obvious error. “The Rohirrim are not elves,” he said. “They are human.”

She paused in her examination of the stone. She’d been vaguely aware that there were other humans _somewhere_ in this strange world, but to have them named, to be told they lived just south of these borders—it was a strange reality that she hadn’t been prepared for. As fond as she had grown of Ilye and Lórien, and as much as she’d begun to grudgingly respect Haldir, she missed being among regular, flawed humans. It would be nice to see them again, she thought, to see faces with ordinary, plain looks rather than ethereal, impossible beauty. She filed the thought away for another time, but resolved not to forget it.

“Go on then, Roitar. How much Common do you know?”


	8. Chapter 8

Haldir sighed as yet again Ilye called their party to a halt. The mortal had finally gained enough strength in her limbs to take a cautious walk through the forest, and as he was accompanying Rúmil to the fences in order to collect the latest reports, he’d agreed to escort her and Ilye on a short walk.

He didn’t mind the task itself—he loved few things better than walking beneath the trees of his beloved forest—but the girl was still weak from her illness and travelled even slower than she had on that first torturous trek.

“Must we halt every five paces, Ilye?” he asked wearily.

The elleth sent him a poisonous glare, protective of her new friend. “Unless you wish her to collapse of exhaustion, we must.”

“If she isn’t yet strong enough—”

“She is fine, at a reasonable pace—”

“Wounded snails travel faster than this!” he exclaimed.

“Hey!” the two elves’ argument was cut off by an annoyed shout. Aubrey glared between the two of them, hands planted on her hips. “Perhaps I could choose how often I need to rest? Haldir, if it bothers you this much, go ahead. I don’t care. And Ilye, I am perfectly capable of walking. Thank you for your concern.”

Slightly put out, the elleth nodded, and they once more set off, this time at a reasonable pace. Haldir allowed his mind to drift, losing his senses in the sounds and motions of the forest around him. There, in the trees above him, a magpie chased a pair of boisterous starlings. A few hundred metres to his left, a small spring bubbled to the surface, feeding a small stream that would eventually join the great Anduin.

The loud, blunt sounds of leaves scattering a twigs splintering alerted him to the mortal’s approach. He slowed his stride, allowing her to catch up, and quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You move with all the grace of a wounded orc, girl.”

She pursed her lips. “ _Hannon le.”_

He blinked, startled. “You—that was Sindarin!”

Her smile seemed to suggest he was a fool. “Yes. Ilye’s been teaching me whilst I was ill. I’ve picked up a few phrases. Speaking of teaching, when are we resuming our lessons?”

“Are you yet able?”

She frowned, considering. “Yes, I should think so. I’m not quite up to running any more marathons, but I can certainly manage archery, and you could finally start to teach me sword fighting.”

“Not quite yet, mortal.” He said reprovingly. “When you are fit enough, and only then.”

Disgruntled, she nodded. They walked side by side for a few minutes without speaking, and he noted with some amusement that she was consciously trying to lighten her steps. “If you would like,” he said slowly, “I can continue to teach you Sindarin.”

She looked up sharply. “Really?”

“You show promise,” he admitted. “I have rarely heard a mortal manage such accuracy with such little time.”

“I . . . would like that,” she smiled.

o0o

The early morning sunlight had not yet broken through the thick canopy of Mallorn trees when Aubrey reached the training ground the next morning. As ornery and unpleasant as she found her instructor, she had missed her training sessions; missed the pride in herself at learning new skills and the pleasant ache of tired muscles.

Deep shadows the colour of inky water lingered beneath the trees, lending a dream-like quality to her surroundings. She found two elves stood at the edge of the training field, quivers strapped across their backs. They turned as she approached, and she recognised one of them as Haldir’s brother, Orophin.

“Haldir?” she asked them, the Sindarin term lost to her.

The second elf nodded, and gestured to the far side of the clearing. “Over there,” he said, in heavily accented English.

 _“Hannon le,”_ she thanked him, earning a nod of approval from Orophin.

She trudged across the clearing, wondering what they would be doing that day. As he’d instructed following their first lesson, she practiced her archery alone, using the techniques he’d given her. Though she’d noticed there was always an elf practicing nearby, keeping an eye on her progress, she was left undisturbed, and had indeed begun to slowly progress. He was still refusing to teach her how to use a sword, citing her lack of strength and fitness, instead filling their last sessions with skills like making arrows, tracking, sharpening weapons, and the dreaded fitness routines.

She hoped that her week off to recover from illness would spur him into something more interesting than stripping sticks for arrows or running around a field. At least he’d promised to continue her lessons in Sindarin, a refreshingly academic challenge.

Haldir waited beneath the shadow of a mallorn, his silvery eyes glinting in the deep shade. _“Mae govannen, mortal.”_

Aubrey blinked, registering the foreign tongue, then smiled wryly. “I take it that’s the word for ‘mortal’?”

“Indeed. Today, we shall leave the city. You must learn more about Lórien, if you are to live out your days here.”

Grimacing at the way he managed to make her sound as though she would drop at any second, she nodded. “So . . . we’re going for a walk?”

“Essentially. Do keep up, girl.” He turned and strode away, disappearing into the gloom of the forest.

Aubrey scrambled after him, certain in the knowledge that if she lost him in this near-dawn darkness, she could wander the forest for days, lost. She quickly caught up with him, but stayed a few paces behind, studying the way he placed his feet. His elegantly tooled boots made not a whisper in the forest floor, flattening dead leaves soundlessly and passing lightly over bracken and brambles.

In contrast, she seemed to stumble over every leaf and twig, raising a tremendous racket. Slowing, she placed her heel down, deliberately softly, and allowed the side of her foot to settle upon the ground before rocking forwards onto her toes. Though the leaves still crinkled beneath her boots, there was noticeably less noise. She smiled, looking up to gauge Haldir’s reaction. He had stopped to look back at her, no doubt alerted by the change in her gait. He gave her a barely perceptible nod and set off once more.

The walked in silence for a good twenty minutes, leaving the city behind them. The further they got from the city, the wilder the forest seemed to become. The trees were smaller but grew closer together, and their limbs tangled together above her head, letting only the most stubborn sun beams find their way to the floor. The undergrowth was also thicker, growing up to her waist in some places, and catching on her cloak.

They had just passed one such clump of brambles when Haldir raised a hand, calling them to a halt. “Listen,” he murmured, tilting his head to one side. “What do you hear?”

She held her breath, straining to hear something. Besides the constant birdsong, and the whisper of the wind in the trees high above them, she could hear nothing. “There’s nothing there.”

“You’re not paying attention,” he scolded. “The forest is sentient. Listen to what it is telling you, mortal.”

She wanted to snap that she didn’t speak forest, or else that his bizarrely elegant ears were no doubt ten times better than her puny mortal senses, but at his quelling look she held her tongue. Her eyes drifted closed as she listened, allowing the bird song to float over her in gentle melodies. Now that she focused, there was almost a pattern to the sound of the trees swaying. They moved like waves upon the ocean, gently undulating first one way then the next, and swelling over certain areas in the wood. She focused her senses back the way they had come, and her mouth fell open in shock. From the direction of the city, the trees seemed almost to pulse, as though the giant mallorn in the centre really were the heart of the forest.

“I can hear it,” she murmured, her eyes still closed.

He hummed in approval. “You have only to pay attention. When you have truly learnt to listen, you will be able to find your way about the realm without guidance or map. The city is the centre of life here, and the forest knows this. Now, I do not know how sensitive the ears of mortals are. We are walking towards a stream, alert me when you can hear it.”

They set off once more, and they had walked for perhaps another five minutes, before Aubrey slowed, frowning. She couldn’t be sure, but—there. “I can hear the stream,” she declared.

Looking faintly appalled at the limited range of human hearing, Haldir nodded. “Very good. Lead us to it.”

It wasn’t long before the trees began to thin, and the stream came into view. It glimmered like a fine silver wire in the rising sunlight, lined on either bank by mallorn trees and, more familiar to Aubrey, alders and willows.

She had still not regained all of her usual energy and fitness after her illness and her legs were beginning to ache from walking. Gratefully, she sank down onto her knees beside the stream and dipped her hands in, cupping a mouthful up to her lips. “The water here, it’s fresher than at home,” she commented.

He shrugged. “I am not surprised. This stream flows south until it meets the Celebrant, or Silverlode, in your tongue. The Celebrant in turn meets the Great Anduin, which follows the border of Rohan and then carries on into Gondor, where it finally meets the sea.”

 _Rohan,_ she mused. _That name again_. “What’s Gondor?”

“A kingdom of men. It lies far to the south of here.”

Aubrey frowned, staring steam as far as she could see before the small beck vanished around a corner. “I find it odd,” she murmured, “to think of this place as a whole world, with different countries and people. If I just think of it as Lórien, it’s less real, almost.”

“The world is far wider than you can imagine, little mortal,” he replied, not unkindly. “The Misty Mountains stretch for leagues upon leagues in either direction to the west of us, and beyond that is the Eriador and all the peoples there.”

“My own world is pretty vast. There are seven continents, and each of those is huge.” She said, feeling to absurd urge to defend her version of reality.

Haldir motioned for them to begin walking once more, leaping lithely over the narrow stream. Aubrey followed him, but slipped on the damp fallen leaves upon the opposite bank, her arms wind-milling rapidly until Haldir reached down and grasped her shoulder, tugging her forwards and steadying her. He gave her a distinctly unimpressed look before setting off, not looking back. Cheeks flaming in embarrassment, she followed, taking care to keep her feet light and quiet on the ground.

However, after a few minutes of walking quietly, Haldir glanced back over his shoulder. “Tell me about your home,” he said. Though his tone suggested command, there was a note of honest curiosity in his voice that Aubrey was happy to comply with.

“I live— _lived_ —in a country called England. The place I live is called Yorkshire, and I live out in the country, in the dales. It’s lovely, it really is. The moors are so bleak, but there’s a harsh beauty in that, I think. In summer, the hillsides are covered in heather, and it smells sweet enough to make you dizzy.” She said, a wide smile settling on her face. “If you watch the hillsides, there’s almost a cloud of bees on the heather in early spring. And in autumn and winter—there’s nothing as isolated. I like to walk up over the moors when it’s snowed. Of course you have to be careful of getting lost, and you don’t want to walk over a frozen peat bog, but I like to see how far I can get before the snow’s too deep. And there’s something marvellous about looking back down the dale, the fields covered in perfect snow, unmarked except for my own footsteps.”

When her companion said nothing, she looked up sharply. “I know it might not have much on magical, sentient forests, but it’s my home, and I love it.”

“No,” he said, “it does sound appealing. I . . . forgive me, if I have seemed dismissive.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m just a little, ah, sensitive about home.”

He studied her. His eyes were unusually warm and he and seemed upon the verge of saying something, when he suddenly looked up, staring at the trees beyond her. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice low and tight.

“What?”

“Now!” he snapped, voice ringing with command.

Aubrey hurried to obey, positioning herself behind his tall frame. He’d drawn the slender sword that hung at his waist and held it before him, his muscles tenses beneath his clothes. “If I tell you to run,” he murmured, “run back to the city and alert the nearest warden that you can find. Tell them that I am between flets eighty nine and ninety.”

Flustered, she nodded. By now, even she could see movement in the trees beyond him.

The moment seemed to swell with tension, but was bizarrely silent. _Why is there no music?_   She thought wildly, wiping clammy hands upon her trousers, remembering every tense action scene she’d ever watched. _This isn’t a film,_ she snapped to herself.

A blurred form broke through the undergrowth and skidded to a halt. Rúmil. She recognised Haldir’s younger brother, though his sleeve was torn over his shoulder and his hair was dishevelled, strands clinging to his sweaty brow. Most disturbingly, she realised, the sword clenched in his hand glistened with thick black blood. _Black?_

 _“Haldir!”_ Rúmil gasped, relief evident in his voice. They exchanged words in rapid Sindarin, and Haldir nodded, turning to her.

“Go,” he cried, “go to the city! Tell them there are orcs at the South East border station!”

“But—” she gasped, her hands trembling.

_“Run!”_

She swallowed, nodded, and ran.


	9. Chapter 9

Her feet struck the forest floor in time with the pounding of her heart. Her breath caught in her throat, loud and harsh, and she grew dizzy. _Don’t stop_ , she commanded herself, determinedly pushing herself faster. Her abdomen seared with a painful stitch but she forced herself to ignore the burning pain, focusing only on reaching the city.

When she looked back on that desperate run later, it would dawn on her that her feet didn’t catch on undergrowth the same way they had when she was walking, and she would remember Haldir telling her that the forest was sentient—but in the moment, she could think of nothing but gasping in the next lungful of air and pushing herself faster, harder.

She broke through the tree line into the training clearing after what felt like simultaneously only seconds and a lifetime. There were perhaps two dozen elves practicing in the open space, and they all turned to look at her when she blundered into the field. Blinking in the bright sun after spending all morning in the cool shade of the forest, she turned to the nearest elf.

“Orcs,” she gasped, breathless and exhausted from her run. “Orcs at—the South East border—station.”

It was as though someone had set off a bomb in the centre of the field. Elves were suddenly sprinting to and fro, shouting and calling to each other in rapid Sindarin, gathering weapons and armour and organising into lines. In no more than five minutes, two groups stood before her, about twenty elves in each group, and another commanding them. They were resplendent in fine armour shaped and tooled to mirror the lines of leaves and vines, accented in blue and green enamel. They set off at a dead sprint, and Aubrey suspected they would not slow until they reached their companions.

Grimly, she realised there was nothing more that she could do but wait for news.

o0o

Unable to find Ilye anywhere, Aubrey had at last retired to her talan. Unable to be idle, she searched for any task that needed doing. Painstakingly, she cleaned her boots of the mud they had picked up in the forest, and then set to cleaning all of her clothes. She’d built up a good stack of laundry during her illness, and decided to occupy herself by finally washing it all in her large tub.

For the first time, she was glad of the time it took to wash clothes in this realm. She was certain that, if she had had nothing to do while she waited—either for the warriors to return, or orcs to storm the city—she would have gone insane. Unfortunately, the menial work left her mind entirely free to wander. She began to imagine a variety of situations, each worse than the last. She’d never actually seen an orc, and in her imagination they went from stunted green goblin type creatures no bigger than a man to towering ogres as large as houses. With a sick feeling in her throat, she realised that, despite his horrific attitude towards her and complete lack of manners, she was actually worried for Haldir.

Dusk had fallen before she was startled from her ever more fantastic imaginings of the battle.

A bell rang out across the city, once, twice, three times. Having long since finished washing her clothes, Aubrey paused in her latest task—polishing the table—and hurried out of the door.

She looked down from the platform her talan stood on, and saw elves swarming through the city below her, hurrying towards the gates. She jogged after them, desperate to know what was happening. She had not yet made it down to the forest floor when the elves guarding the gates pulled them open.

She gasped when she saw the elves coming into the city. They moved like wraiths across the forest floor, perfectly silent and in sync. From three levels up, it was hard to distinguish between the elves, but she recognised Haldir by virtue of his position at the head of the group. Letting out a quiet breath of relief at seeing him safe, she began to scan the rest of them. She noticed that their heads were bowed and they didn’t speak to one another.

 _They don’t look like a celebrating army_ , she thought, and her stomach clenched in fear.

As one, the elves parted, revealing a group of four in the middle. _“No,”_ she breathed, biting down on her lip. The four elves carried a litter between them, and upon it lay a body. Even from her position so high up, Aubrey could tell that the elf was dead. His chest was marred by a long, deep slash, and his clothes were drenched in crimson. Even his silver hair was stained red by his own blood.

A low, agonised moan rose from the crowd of waiting elves, and Aubrey flinched, finding the source in an elf woman near the front. She had collapsed against the elf beside her, seemingly unable to hold herself up, and was gasping for breath. She stumbled forwards, her cries rising until a high, thin scream cut the air.

The four elves bearing the litter set it down and backed away, bowing their heads in respect. The she elf ran to the litter and threw herself upon the dead elf’s chest, hiding her face. Sobs rose from her huddled form and she began to shake with grief, formless, wordless wails leaving her. Aubrey felt each cry like a knife in the gut, pointed and aching.

A commotion directly below her tore Aubrey’s gaze from the stricken woman and she looked down to see a young woman holding a child back, trying to keep him from seeing the gruesome scene.

  1. She recognised the child, his small cherubic face was unmistakeable. “No,” she whispered suddenly. “Don’t let it be—”



_“Ada!”_ Roitar cried, breaking free from the she elf’s hold and running to where the woman—his mother, Aubrey realised—crouched over her husband’s body.

The elfling stopped a few metres away and began to shake his head in denial, backing away. _“Ada,”_ he said again. _“Nana, wake him up!”_

She didn’t need to understand his words to hear the meaning behind them. A tear slid down her cheek, quickly followed by another, until she was crying in earnest. Little Roitar did not cry, but shouted at his mother, calling his father again and again. At last, Haldir stepped forwards from his place at the head of the wardens and scooped the child up into his embrace, carrying him away.

Aubrey turned away and ran back to her talan, wiping tears from her cheeks. She shut the door firmly behind her and slumped down to the floor beside it. _I will never forget that elf’s grief_ , she realised. Even now, the woman’s screams echoed in her ears, and Roitar’s stricken face swam before her eyes.

Outside, a low hum began to resonate. It built and grew, louder and louder, until she felt the music in her very bones. _Every elf in the city must be singing._ A lone voice rose high above the rest, piercing in its loveliness and aching with sorrow.

Aubrey made her way slowly to bed, kicking her boots off listlessly. She curled up into a ball, her hand closing around her necklace, and let the waves of music wash over her. The lament lulled her into sleep, tears still streaming down her face.

o0o

The next morning, she deliberated whether or not to turn up for her training session. Surely, following the death of one of their own, the elves would not want to bother training her? Then again, perhaps it would be good for them to take their mind off their pain. She finally decided that she wanted to at least make sure that Haldir was okay after the fight—she had begun to think of him of him as something of a friend, and she thought he was beginning to warm to her.

The city was always quiet at the early hour she rose for training, but seemed to be eerily silent as she walked down to the grounds. _The forest is sentient._ Indeed, when she listened, the wind in the trees was subdued and mournful; the branches of the great mallorn trees appeared to droop in quiet recognition that one elf would never again walk their boughs.

The training grounds were deserted except for one lone figure. She recognised him instantly—whether by the familiar line of his broad shoulders, or the mere _presence_ he gave off, Haldir was unmistakeable. He stood with his head bowed in the centre of the field, a statue of living grief.

She approached him, halting, uncertain, a few steps away from him. It was unlike him not to turn and face her as she approached; yet he did not stir. “. . . Haldir?”

His shoulders rose and he raised his head, but did not turn. “ _Mortal.”_

Aubrey frowned; his voice was icy. He’d never sounded so cold, not even when they first met. “Are you alright?”

He turned then, and she gasped. A thin red cut traced his left cheek bone, making his fierce expression even sharper. But what made her breath catch in her throat was his eyes. The silvery grey irises, usually bright and alert, were a cool gunmetal, and they seemed to exude an aura of freezing cold. “Am I alright?” he echoed. His voice was deathly quiet.

“I—I just meant—”

“I do not care what you meant. You cannot begin to comprehend the pain of losing one of our own. Do not belittle what we have suffered with your thoughtless questions.”

She swallowed, curling her hands into small fists. “I’m sorry. What . . . what was his name?”

“How _dare_ you?” Haldir snarled, stepping forwards until there was barely a foot of space between them.

Startled, she stumbled backwards, raising her hands. “I—what—?”

“How dare you come here, on this day, and ask about him? After what you have done?” He hissed.

She frowned, completely bemused. “I don’t understand. What have I done?”

 _“You_ killed him,” Haldir spat. “His blood is on your hands. His widow’s grief at your feet, the years his son will spend fatherless, your doing.”

 “You’re insane. I did _nothing.”_ She snapped, planting her feet firmly and lifting her chin.

“No,” he said. “You did not do _enough_. Had you run faster, had you fetched help sooner, Celedan would be alive. He fell but a minute before re-enforcements arrived. An elf would have relayed my message in half the time you did, you pitiful creature. I was a fool to rely on you. On a _mortal.”_ He spat the word out as though it burned his tongue.

“All I did was follow your orders,” she snarled.

He scoffed. “You hesitated when I ordered you to leave. I have watched you in training, you resent every effort I ask of you. Did you even bother to run back, or did you walk as soon as you were out of my sight?”

“Of course I ran!” She yelled. “I ran faster than I’ve ever run in my life!”

“And still, you were not fast enough. I do not understand why Lady Galadriel allows you to remain here. You are a plague upon this city, nothing but a waste of resources from the start, and now? Now you have claimed the life of one of our own. Was this your intention? You are no better than a foul, stinking _orc.”_

“If you wanted someone fast you should have gone yourself,” she cried, her fury climbing. “It’s not my fault that _you_ made a mistake!”

For a moment, she was convinced he was going to draw his sword and cleave her head from her shoulders. “If it comforts you to blame me, you may do so,” he seethed. “I care not. But your hands are dripping with Celedan’s blood. I see it. _Roitar_ will see it—and innocent child you have deprived of a father.”

He advanced upon her as he spoke, spittle flying from his lips, and his eyes came alight with rage. Shaking with fear and fury, Aubrey backed away, shaking her head desperately. “No—I didn’t make any difference—I . . .”

“Go! I am not your instructor anymore,” he roared, one hand going to the blade at his waist.

“Haldir,” she cried, “I didn’t—”

“Get out of my sight before I drive you from the city!”

At that, she turned and ran. She fled to her talan, slamming the door, and stood before the small table in the centre of the room, her hands clenched into white fists on the back of her chair.

 _You are a plague upon this city_. How dare he say such things to her? Just because she wasn’t an elf. _But an elf would have got there sooner_ , a small voice in the back of her mind whispered _. It could have made a difference._

_No! If he wanted an elf to go to the city, he could have gone, or Rúmil. I did exactly as he told me._

_And you let him down._


	10. Chapter 10

Orophin exchanged a glance with Rúmil. The new patrol schedule Haldir had drawn up had doubled the amount of time each unit of wardens would spend on each rotation, and reduced their rest time.

“We need to speak to him,” he said, scanning the schedule. It detailed that patrols would be particularly heavy along the southern and western borders, as many as four units of wardens guarding the area at a time. 

Rúmil frowned. “I’m sure he’s alright. Surely it’d be worse if he didn’t react at all?”

“Rúmil, he’s only given himself one day off between each shift. He’ll make himself ill, and you know how grumpy he gets when he’s tired or sick.”

The youngest of the three brothers nodded. “We’ll find him after dinner this evening.”

o0o

He had been anticipating the knock on his door. He knew his brothers would be alarmed by his new schedule, and seek him out. As such, he’d just boiled a pot of water when Rúmil’s familiar knock sounded in the entrance way of his talan.

“Come in,” he called out, setting the water down and leaving the tea to brew.

He heard them come into his small kitchen but did not turn, busy laying out cups and cutting three generous slices of thick, sweet honey cake. “Brother,” Orophin finally said, breaking the silence.

He sighed, his hands stilling. “I will meet you in the sitting room.”

“Haldir—”

“ _Orophin.”_ His voice was hard—the voice he used as their Marchwarden, not their brother. The younger elf subsided and left the doorway, leaving him alone in the room.

He spent far longer than necessary arranging the three cups of tea on a tray and making sure the slices of cake were even. Eventually, he knew he could delay the conversation no longer, and carried the tray through. Orophin was sat upon one of the two large chairs that dominated the room; Rúmil stood at the window with his back to them. Haldir set the tray upon the table in the centre of the room and took a seat, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and drumming his fingers against his thigh. “The schedule,” he said.

“Yes, the schedule!” Rúmil snapped, turning to face him. “It’s ridiculous, Haldir.”

“Threats must be responded to.”

“This isn’t response,” Orophin murmured, the calm voice between his two fiery brothers. “This is you lashing out because you feel guilty and angry.” 

“I have nothing to feel guilty for,” he replied.

Orophin scoffed. “Don’t lie, brother. Not to yourself, and not to us.”

“It is no lie,” he retorted. “I am grieved, yes, but not angry or shamed. This new schedule is a reasonable response to a new threat.”

“How large is this threat, that we may have only three days of rest every three weeks?” Rúmil demanded. “I don’t know how you expect me to woo ellith with only three days every month.”

“Forgive me, Rúmil,” he said scathingly, “for forgetting your cock when I was calculating the _defence of the realm.”_

“You—”

“Enough!” Orophin shouted. His elder and younger brother subsided, sending each other heated glares. “Rúmil, stop being foolish for five minutes. Haldir, this schedule is ridiculous. We encounter orcs at the border regularly!”

 _“Think_ , little brother. We encounter orcs and goblins on the _western_ border, foraging out of Moria. These were from the east—from Dol Guldur, the very thing Thranduil’s kin warned us of. This not a single incident, this is a new population of that filth which will continue to attack us. We _must_ be prepared!” He said fiercely.

“But _surely—”_

Haldir sank back into his seat, taking a long drink of his cooling tea. “You do not remember the last time,” he murmured. “You were but an elfling, Orophin, and Rúmil—you had not yet been born. I remember it well. I _fought_. I saw our kin die in their thousands upon that forsaken field; many of them lie there still. I will not live to see either of you fight such a battle as I did at the Dagorlad. I will _not._ ”

Rúmil swallowed and fell silent, taking a sip of his own drink. “What of the mortal?” He asked after a long, heavy silence.

Haldir’s expression darkened. “I will not speak of that creature.”

Rúmil and Orophin exchanged a glance. Thick, tense silence filled the talan, pregnant with meaning. Unable to bear it, Haldir drained his cup and stood abruptly, bidding them a swift good night. He shut the door to his bed chamber with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, running one hand of his face. His brothers would entertain themselves and eventually leave—there was a spare bed chamber, if they chose to stay.

He pulled off his shirt and walked to the bed, kicking off his boots. He lay awake for hours, staring up at the ceiling, the cries of a long ago battle ringing in his ears.

 

o0o

A small minnow hovered, perfectly still, just below the surface of the forest pool. Its fins moved with the slight current, keeping it in place, and every now and then the tiny, perfectly symmetrical gills behind its head vibrated, the only thing to betray it as alive.

A single tear fell from Aubrey’s eye and landed above the minute fish, startling it away into the depths. She watched the ripples dispassionately, rubbing a second tear from her eye before it could fall.

She’d found the pool three days after Celedan’s death. Unable to train in the mornings, it hadn’t been long before she couldn’t bear to stay inside her talan any longer, and had taken to wandering the forest around Caras Galadhon. No-one ever stopped her leaving, though after her last, disastrous conversation with Haldir, she suspected this was more because the elves didn’t care whether she was in their city or not than because they trusted her. 

Two weeks had gone by since the battle and its dreadful outcome. She hadn’t spoken to a single elf since her fight with Haldir, unable to bear the raw grief in their faces, and though she was still furious at his cruel words, she’d finally accepted there was some truth to his accusation. No matter her intentions, Celedan was dead because she hadn’t been fast enough.

Guilt and shame had built within her until she couldn’t bear to face any of the elves. Perhaps worst of all, Haldir’s hatred had hurt her badly. Against her best wishes and better judgement, she’d begun to think of him as a true friend. His gruff manner had not been overly abrasive, once she was used to it, and she’d grown to appreciate the rare moments of praise he awarded her. She’d thought that the feeling was mutual, that he was beginning to see there was more to respect about mortals than he had known.

_You are a plague upon this city._

Apart from Haldir, the elves of Lórien had been good to her, particularly Ilye and Galadriel. She could not in all conscience remain in their city, draining their resources, after what she had done. What she had _failed_ to do.

She sat back, drawing her knees up against her chest and hugging them close to her body. She had decided to leave Lórien as soon as she’d gathered enough supplies. She would head south to the kingdom of men—Rohan. Amongst her own people, she could perhaps fit in better and be more useful, and maybe even discover more about how she could get home.

 _Oh, Evan, I miss you_ , she thought miserably, running one finger over the seam of her leggings. She longed to see his smile once more, the bright, curious light in his hazel eyes when he found something that caught his interest.

She closed her eyes with a heavy sigh and dropped her head forwards, resting her forehead against her knees. She let the quiet babbling of the stream lull her into a trance-like state, feeling the tension slowly leave her body.

A gentle cough came from behind her, and she spun around, alarmed. It took her a flustered moment to place the elf who stood at the edge of the forest clearing she had come to think of as hers. It was Celeborn, Galadriel’s husband, one of the two rulers of Lórien. Embarrassed to have been caught spaced out in the remote area of the forest, she flushed, scrambling to her feet.

“Lord Celeborn,” she greeted, remembering the deferential address she’d heard the elves use in reference to their rulers.

He smiled a warm, gentle smile and gestured to the rock she had been sat upon. “Please sit, child. I wish to speak with you.”

She took her seat uncertainly, and watched with wide eyes as he swept his resplendent robes out of the way and sat upon another boulder opposite her.  “What can I, uh, do for you?”

“I am merely curious as to why our young ward now spends her days alone and far away from the city, instead of training, as we instructed?” He said pleasantly.

Her ears burned and her eyes prickled with unshed tears, shame making her tongue heavy and her throat grow sore and thick. “Haldir . . . Haldir refused to teach me after what I—after what I did.”

The wise elf frowned. “What have you done?”

“What have I—? That elf—Celedan. It’s . . . it’s my fault he’s dead,” she said, her voice trailing off to a whisper.

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “In what way is it your fault?”

“I wasn’t fast enough,” she said softly. “If I had only alerted them sooner—”

“Foolish, _foolish_ elf,” Celeborn breathed.

She looked up, startled. “I’m sorry?”

“My Marchwarden,” he said. “He blamed you?”

“Y—yes. He said I was a—a _plague upon the city.”_ She spat the words out, hating their bitter taste on her tongue.

Celeborn shook his head sadly. “I apologise for his reckless words, dear child. He does not truly blame you, of this I assure you.”

“Then he’s a damn good liar,” she muttered. “He was right, anyway. I should have been faster, I _know_ it’s my fault.”

“Should Celedan not have been faster, to avoid the stroke that felled him?”

“What? No! Of course not, that’s ridiculous.” She said, bemused.

The elf smiled. “Why do you expect of yourself what you do not of an elf thousands of years your senior? A skilled warrior?”

“It’s different,” she insisted.

“No, Aubrey, it is not.” He said firmly. She blinked, startled. It had been a long time since she had heard her own name—most of the elves referred to her simply as ‘mortal’ or ‘girl’. “The only one at fault for Celedan’s death is the orc that killed him. You must understand, death is not something my people are accustomed to. Elves die rarely in peaceful times, this loss was a great shock to us all. Haldir does not blame you, for it is not your fault.”

“How would you know?” She asked, a trifle petulantly.

Celeborn smiled softly. “Because I know Haldir, and I know that he blames himself.”

“Why would he blame himself?” She demanded, nonplussed.

“He is the Marchwarden, the leader of our forces. He blames himself whenever an elf under his command is injured or killed.”

She bit her lip, going over his words. Celeborn sat silently by her side, allowing her all the time she needed. Eventually, she took a deep breath and said, “I had planned to leave for Rohan.”

Looking genuinely surprised, he frowned. “Why? Do you not like Lórien?”

“No, I love Lórien. The forest is beautiful, and you’ve all been very welcoming. Very—friendly.” Her voice caught and cracked when she remembered Roitar presenting her with the healing stone. “But I thought I might fit in better with my own kind.”

“If you truly feel that you want to leave, you are welcome to do so. I will accompany you to Aldburg myself, if that is your wish. But—Aubrey, is this really your desire, or do you act out of misplaced shame, and your hurt over our charming Marchwarden’s words?” Celeborn pressed.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Galadriel has seen great things in your future if you stay here, child,” he told her. “I implore you; do not give all that up over one tragedy.”

“What should I do?” She asked.

He stood and offered her a hand; she accepted his help up. “Galadriel speaks to him even now. Tomorrow morning, go to him and resume your training, he will not turn you away.”

“How do you know he’ll listen to Galadriel?” She wondered aloud.

He smiled broadly. “My wife can be exceptionally persuasive—and besides, he knows he is in the wrong.”

“I don’t know if I can stay, watching the way you all grieve, still.” She admitted finally.

Celeborn took her arm in his as they walked away, setting a warm, gentle hand over hers. “Oh, child, let go of your guilt. It is unfounded, I promise you.”

They did not speak again as they walked through the forest, but Aubrey felt lighter than she had in two weeks.

o0o

The arrow’s fletching tickled the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, tilting the long bow a degree to the right, and loosed the arrow. The bow string sang, sending the arrow true to his target—a square of wood, two inches across, that hung from a beam, moving to and fro and the breeze. He started forwards to retrieve the arrow when he felt a presence behind him, and stilled.

“That was well done,” Galadriel murmured.

He relaxed, dipping his head in reverence to the elf who was queen in all but name. “Thank you, My Lady.”

“Tell me, how is Aubrey progressing in her efforts?”

He clenched his jaw and looked away, slow anger moving like poison through his veins. “I ended our lessons. I cannot train her.”

“Can you not? Or _will_ you not?” Galadriel pressed.

He sighed in consternation. “I cannot teach someone incapable of learning what I instruct.”

“Many of your wardens have remarked that she seemed eager to prover herself, and pushed herself in your training sessions.” She said mildly.

Frustrated, he began to run his thumb over his bow string. “I found her stubborn and proud. She was eager to progress but had not the patience for true work—as any mortal, she rushed tasks and was rashly hurried.”

“Qualities which I am sure she would have lost, under your patient tuition.” Noted Galadriel, an emphasis so subtle upon the word ‘patient’ that he couldn’t be sure it was there.

“My Lady,” he said finally, with the air of one spitting out bitter seeds, “will you order me to train her?”

Galadriel gave him a long look. He shuddered; though he knew the Lady of Light only ever received the whispers of someone’s current thoughts, when she looked at him like that it was easy to imagine she could see every thought he had ever had. He felt almost as if she was going deeper than his mind, to examine his very fëa. “I would not order you to, no.” She said, though there was steel in her voice, and he fought the urge to flinch. Fair and gentle was she, but great was her wrath, and he had no wish to experience it.  “I would merely remind you of your responsibility to Aubrey, and your duty to me.”

He bowed his head, swallowing against a sudden and unpleasant feeling of deep guilt. “As you say, My Lady,” he murmured. “I shall train her.”

He felt her hand warm on his face then, tilting his head up—though he was perhaps an inch taller than her own impressive stature. “Do not despair, dear Haldir,” she smiled, her eyes as soft as a mother’s. “I see your guilt and your grief over the loss of one of your own. Do not let it shadow you.”

“I blamed her,” he croaked. “I sent her away. Told her it was her fault.”

“And do you blame her still?”

He backed away, feeling the loss of her comforting hand keenly. “I do not know.”


	11. Chapter 11

She agonised all night, barely catching three hours of sleep all together. _To go or not to go,_ she mused, staring out at the night-time forest, her arms braced against the windowsill. If she went, he’d think she was giving in to him, being obedient to what she was ordered. If she refused, if she waited for him to find her an apologise, he’d know she wouldn’t bow to him . . . but it would be on his terms that they met once more. Celeborn had told her that Galadriel had to talk him into continuing her training—he wanted it no more than she did. If she went, they’d both be unwilling. They’d be _even._

Nearly four days of hiking on bloody, blistered feet, feeling every step like a knife, had taught her that in matters of her pride, she could only lose. Evan was always telling her to let her pride go. She could almost hear his chiding voice— _don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, Aubrey._ It was his favourite idiom, because it was one of the only ones he understood. She’d spent four days painstakingly explaining the nuances behind the saying, and after that, he’d used it at every opportunity.

_Evan would go to the training session. Evan would forgive, and move on._

In the end, it was only the knowledge that if she didn’t turn up, Haldir would think she feared him that made her go. Every step of the ten minute walk seemed to ring with finality. Their last conversation was playing over and over again in her head as she walked; when she shut her eyes briefly against the glare of the rising sun over the trees, she watched his movements once more, jerky with anger, like some an endless, furiously drawn flipbook.

_You are a plague upon this city._

By the time she reached the training ground, her palms were damp with sweet and her lip throbbed under the pressure of her nervous teeth. She paused for a long moment in the shadow of a mallorn, clenching her fists tightly and setting her jaw. _You can do this._

She marched onto the field with her chin high and her back straight, each step deliberate. She faltered when she saw him—instead of his usual wardrobe of earthy greens browns and ethereal silvers and blues, today Haldir’s tunic was brilliantly, aggressively scarlet. The colour felt almost abrasive in the soft tones of the early morning, and she couldn’t help but feel that it was a challenge. _What do you do,_ she wondered, _if the bull is wearing the flag?_

She squared her shoulders and marched on, fighting a hot swell of emotion—because damn him, no matter how resentful she felt, he looked good in red. The colour brought out his features in an alluring way. She vaguely remembered reading that the most beautifully, brightly coloured animals were often the most poisonous.

“Good morning,” she said when she reached him. She smiled slightly; speaking first felt like a victory. She saw a muscle in his jaw jump, and counted another victory.

His gaze seemed to weigh her up, and find her wanting. “Good day,” he finally murmured.

“I want you to know,” she said, “that I’m here for the sole purpose of showing you that I _will not_ be bullied. I won’t be chased off or beaten down. You can’t crush my spirit, and you can’t make me leave. So I will spend these hours in your company learning what you have to teach me, and you will watch me become more and more capable, until you have to concede that everything you assume about _mortals—”_ she revelled in the word, the power of turning his insult into a moniker. “—is wrong.”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his chin up, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. “Do not think,” he retorted, “that I want to be here anymore than you. I do not trust you, mortal. It is only on the grace of My Lady that I suffer to teach you.” His voice was harsh but brittle, as though any moment his composure might shatter.

For a heady, powerful second, she realised that he was as unnerved by their sudden, forced cooperation as she was, and she wanted to demand an apology, just to see if he would concede. But Aubrey was well versed in knowing her own limitations, and felt certain that if she truly pushed him into a fight, neither of them would truly be a winner. “Duly noted,” she said tightly. “Are we going from where we left off?”

He drew in a deep breath, and his usual aura of confident, assured authority returned. “I am going to set up an archery target, I wish to observe how you are progressing with a bow.”

She followed him over to the archery range, grimacing at the way the early morning dew combined with the last night’s rain had soaked through her trousers down into her boots, leaving her feet feeling clammy and cold.

On a rack beside Haldir hung two bows—his own great war bow, with its lovingly carved pale wood and silvery string, and another smaller one. Aubrey frowned; it was not the child’s bow she had been practicing with.

“Where’s my bow?” She asked, setting one hand upon her hip.

Giving her a familiar and distinctly cross look, Haldir picked up the other bow and extended it. “It is about time you progressed beyond an infant’s bow. This is a better size for you, though when you have your own made you will want it larger.”

She doubted that very much, but took the bow carefully from him and collected a quiver of arrows fletched with pure white feathers from the rack.

She eyed the target; it was perhaps sixty metres away, the furthest distance she had ever shot. Despite the distance, there was no breeze to snatch her arrow mid-flight. Haldir took up his own bow, selecting an arrow from the quiver she’d buckled around her waist. “Watch closely,” he commanded.

Blinking in surprise, she stepped away to give him room. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at the flex of his shoulders and back when he lifted the great bow and drew it. His movements with the weapon were economical and assured; never an adjustment was made. She knew he slowed his motions for her sake, that she could better observe his technique, but still his skill shone through. She found herself staring at the fletching against his smooth cheek—elves never seemed to have beards or stubble, she had noticed—watching the play of his breath rippling across the snowy white feathers. And then the arrow was gone, shooting straight into the centre ring with a low thud.

He let the bow drop to his side, and turned to her. “You will aim to get your arrow as close as possible to mine.”

 _How very Robin Hood_. “What if I hit your arrow?”

“Then you have advanced far more than I had expected,” he said coolly. “And you shall owe me a new arrow.”

Unperturbed by this blinding show of faith, Aubrey raised her bow and drew an arrow to the string. She frowned; the larger bow required more strength to draw than she had imagined, and she knew her aim would be off. Nonetheless, she had been practicing with an almost religious fervour, following the technique Haldir had taught her to the letter—and sure enough she had steadily improved.

She took a calming breath, aimed carefully, and loosed the arrow. The familiar melody of singing bow string then the percussion of arrow meeting target filled her ears. All told, her effort wasn’t appalling. Her arrow rested, quivering, about four inches to the left of Haldir’s.

He gave her a measured look and motioned for her to follow him to the target. She trudged behind him, idly rolling her bowstring between her fingers. When they reached the target, she sighed in consternation—the tip of her arrow was loosely embedded in the target, and came free with the slightest pull. In unhappy contrast, Haldir’s had pierced the target so deeply that the tip was entirely buried, the arrow shaft firmly entrenched.

Taking the arrow in her fingertips, Haldir slowly pulled it out, grunting with effort when it stuck. He managed to extract it without damaging the delicate projectile and slid it carefully back into the quiver. “You will never have the strength to shoot a great bow like this,” he said, indicating his own weapon. Oddly, his tone did not suggest any lacking on her part, rather a simple fact. “Your arrows will never have the same power as mine. To make up for this, you must be accurate. You cannot punch through mail, so you must find the gaps between it.”

She nodded and followed him back to the shooting mark. He drew another arrow without comment and loosed it—once more, it found the dead centre of the target. Taking an arrow from the quiver and extending it to her—an olive branch—a challenge—he said, “Again.”

o0o

As Aubrey walked back to her talan, her muscles aching pleasantly after a morning of exercise, she heard someone calling her name. She turned to see an elf waving enthusiastically at her from a walkway a level above the one she stood upon.

She frowned, placing his familiar face. “Orophin?”

He grinned, and motioned her to back up. Confused, she took a step backwards, then watched, open-mouthed with shock, as he took a flying leap and landed three feet in front of her with only the softest of _thuds_. _“Mae govannen!”_ He beamed, pressing a hand to his heart and bowing.

Not quite sure what to make of him, she replied in halting Sindarin. “ _How are you?”_

 _“I am well,”_ he said. _“I was pleased to see you training with my brother once more.”_

She gave a helpless shrug, understanding only his first few words. Seeing that he’d lost her, he repeated in stilted English, “Good that you work with Haldir.”

She nodded in understanding. “I talked to Celeborn, he put a few things straight for me.”

“Celeborn is wise,” Orophin observed, taking her hand and laying it across his forearm the way she had seen gentlemen escorting ladies in period dramas. “Walk with me,” he said gallantly, setting off before she could reply.

Jogging slightly to keep up with his long strides, Aubrey couldn’t help but smile. Orophin seemed to exude a cheerful energy that she found herself caught up in just by being in his presence. “I didn’t think you spoke Eng—er, Common.”

“I did not. Had Haldir teach me some—practice with you now,” he said breezily.

“Oh—okay. I’d be happy to speak to you.”

He looked down at her, his blue eyes warm. “We will be friends,” he said. He said it like a promise, and she believed him.

They came to a fork in the walkway; the left fork wound up another level and led over a bridge to where she would find her talan, but Orophin took the right without pause. “Orophin,” she called, tugging on his arm. “We’re going to wrong way.”

“Going to my talan,” he said.

Slightly off kilter, she allowed him to lead them on. They wound further into the heart of the city, going up several more levels until they were level with the canopies of the shortest trees. Birds flitted around them, calling to each other and sending golden leaves falling when they startled at Aubrey and Orophin’s presence. At one point, Orophin paused in the middle of a bridge and gestured to a talan that sat alone on a branch two levels above them. It was one of the highest levels of the city and the talan was larger than any she had seen apart from Galadriel and Celeborn’s. She admired the smooth carvings that decorated the structure; it seemed to grow out of the tree it rested upon.

“That is Haldir’s talan,” Orophin informed her, his eyes fixed on her face. Her reaction must have amused him, for he grinned. “Marchwarden—high position. Important.” His limited English skills seemed to fail him then and he tugged her on.

They took a series of quick turns and forks before descending a steep staircase. Aubrey hoped he was planning on showing her back to her own talan—she’d never find her way through the labyrinth of the city. The talan they finally arrived at was modest—larger than her own, but not by much, and decorated only sparely by carvings. Orophin opened the door for her and gestured her through with a small bow. Laughing softly at his antics, she preceded him inside.

“This is nice,” she said honestly. The room was large and airy; every available surface was taken by a potted plant. Aubrey smiled wryly; her own efforts at horticulture had never been terribly successful—she remembered Evan looking exasperatedly at a sagging cactus and pleading with her to at least let the poor thing die—but Orophin’s plants flourished.

He saw her examining a small, flowering shrub and smiled. “I love the life,” he said, running his hand softly over the feathery strands of a fern. “They speak to us.”

“I can’t hear anything,” she said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

His expression turned serious, and a little regretful. “To elves. They speak to elves.”

Sadness touched her brow and she frowned softly, reaching a hand out to caress one pale blue flower. “What do they say?” She murmured.

“Do not _speak,”_ he said. _“Show._ Show me how they are, they need more water, more sun. Show me other parts of the forest.”

Wishing she could experience this, she followed the flower stem to the heart of the shrub and rested her hand there. She thought she had an impression of _something_ —some life, an awareness beyond what any plant should have—but she could see nothing of what Orophin described. “I guess I don’t speak plant,” she said morosely.

“It likes you,” he said, indicating the bush. “Would you like to have it?”

She withdrew her hand quickly. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I’m not very good with plants; they always seem to . . . suffer.”

Orophin grimaced. “Perhaps not, then. Tea? Wine?”

“Tea, please,” she requested, settling back into the comfortable chair.

Orophin disappeared through an arched doorway and she allowed her eyes to drift shut, listening to the familiar sound of water boiling and cups clinking together. He came back into the main room carrying two steaming cups; he passed one to her and she held it close, enjoying the tactile sensation of the rough ceramic glaze on the cup.

Orophin slurped a sip of his tea—she hid a smirk in her cup, sure that the undignified noise was for her benefit. She couldn’t imagine an elf doing something like that without meaning to. The tea was not a blend she was used to, but it was good. The smoky taste reminded her of a cross between Earl Grey and liquorice root; she felt the heat of it spread through her and throw off the last of the chill of the morning.

“Thank you for the tea,” she murmured, running her finger along a tiny crack that marred the edge of the cup. “It’s good.”

He smiled. “We drink it at the border. Very warming.”

She nodded in agreement, taking another sip. She glanced up and frowned; Orophin looked troubled, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how it would be received. “What is it?”

“You should not blame yourself,” he said softly.

Startled, she choked on a mouthful of tea. “Who says I blame myself?”

“Haldir blames himself. You are the same.” He observed.

She gave him a glare. “I am nothing like him.”

“He said the same thing,” Orophin told her archly.

“Look—I blamed myself at first. Your _brother_ was pretty helpful in that regard. But I spoke to Celeborn and he showed me that it was no one’s fault, and blame is no help. I don’t blame myself anymore, and I don’t _think_ Haldir blames me.” She said slowly, taking a drink so she wouldn’t have to talk any longer.

Orophin tilted his head to the side. “You dislike him?”

“I did,” she said softly. “And then I didn’t. I was starting to like him quite a lot—he draws you in, doesn’t he? There’s something about the way he loves Lórien, and you and Rúmil . . . and then he blamed me, told me I was no better than an orc . . . well. I don’t _hate_ him,” she said. “I don’t think I can easily forget the hate in his eyes when he said that.”

Once more, Orophin looked as though he was struggling with whether to say something or not. His decision was taken from him when the door flew open with a bang and Rúmil swaggered in, the laces at the collar of his shirt open, revealing the hard, smooth lines of his upper chest. He said something in Sindarin, laughter in his tone, then stopped, noticing her.

 _“Orophin!”_ He beamed. “ _Have you finally bedded her?”_

Orophin’s delicate ears burned at the tips. “ _I have not,”_ he snapped.

Her Sindarin was not up to the pace of the conversation—but the words she picked out combined with Orophin’s blush and the frankly lascivious look in Rúmil’s eyes gave her enough of an idea that her own cheeks flushed deep red.

“I should be going,” she said, standing so quickly that tea slopped over the side of her mug onto the floor. She set the cup down, sure her face was about to catch fire, and made to hurry out of the door. She froze in the doorway, her hand on the door jam. “Orophin—could you, uh, show me the way back?”

He nodded and stood. “Yes, I will. _Rúmil, please leave my talan. I must escort Aubrey home.”_

 _“I could escort her,”_ he volunteered readily, his grin widening.

 _“You don’t know where her talan is,”_ Orophin rebutted.

 _“Ah—”_ Rúmil said, with the air of one unveiling a magic trick that had not quite succeeded but was more spectacular for it. _“But I know where my talan is. I could give her a tour—the ceiling when viewed from my bed is particularly pleasing—”_

_“Rúmil!”_

_“—many a maid has been so overtaken by the sight, she has—”_

_“That will do!”_

Orophin nearly dragged her from the room, leaving his brother helpless with laughter upon the floor. She hadn’t understood any of their conversation, but from the look of Orophin’s face, she was entirely sure she didn’t want to.

o0o

Aubrey was walking to dinner that night when she heard the noise of feet pounding upon wooden walkway. She startled, unused to elves making any noise with their movement, and turned around just as someone barrelled into her at full speed. She staggered with the impact and floundered, disorientated, unsure whether she was being attacked or embraced.

It took her a solid five seconds to recognise Ilye’s slender frame and silvery hair. “Ilye?” she gasped, attempting to extricate herself.

Ilye released her and fixed her with a look of such fury Aubrey felt it like a second impact. “How _could_ you do that to me?” Ilye demanded hotly.

Entirely nonplussed, she shrugged. “Um—”

“I heard there was an orc attack at the border—not far from where you’d gone that morning—and you _didn’t come to tell me you were okay?”_ Ilye went on. “Celedan _died,_ how was I to know you had survived? I went to the healers telain, and they hadn’t seen you, but you were nowhere around the city, and Haldir wouldn’t tell me where you were; I’ve been frantic!”

“Oh.” Stated like that, she did seem like the most inconsiderate friend in the world. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Where _were_ you?” The she-elf demanded. Aubrey was startled to see tears forming in her vivid blue eyes.

“In the forest, mostly,” she said quietly. “I felt so guilty after what had happened that I couldn’t be around any of you. I . . . I couldn’t bear it if you hated me and blamed me like Haldir.”

Shaking her head bemusedly, Ilye said, “Why should I blame you? You are my friend, Aubrey, and I love you.”

It was Aubrey’s turn to grab her in a hug without warning. There they stood, elf and mortal, high in the walkways of Lórien, shaking with tears in each other’s arms. “I’m sorry,” Aubrey gasped, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I should have come to you.”

“Yes,” Ilye said severely. “You should. Never do that to me again, please.” They held each other in silence for a long while, the only sound their slow breaths and the ever-present chorus of birdsong against the backdrop of the wind in the trees.

When at las they parted, they sat side by side on the walkway, legs hanging out into open air. Looking down past her ankles at the dizzying drop, Aubrey was fervently thankful that heights had never bothered her the way they did Evan. “Did you know him well?” Aubrey asked softly, unable to look at Ilye as she asked. “Celedan, I mean.”

“Yes,” Ilye sighed. “Quite well. He was the same age as my brother, they were elflings together.”

Aubrey stiffened, clenching her hands around the slats of the walkway. “You have a brother?”

“Yes, Arnion. He is seven hundred years younger than me. Have you any siblings? I understand it is far more common for mortals to have multiple children.” Ilye observed.

 _How casually she says it._ “I can trust you, can’t I?” She asked suddenly, plaintively.

Surprised, Ilye blinked. “Of course you can! I would help you with anything, _mellon nin.”_

“Can you help me get home?” Aubrey asked, sudden and desperate hope flaring in her.

“I do not think it is possible. I am sorry,” she said gently.

“ _Please,_ Ilye. Say you’ll help me, even if we can’t, say you’ll try.” She pressed. She could feel her heart beating faster in her chest.

Ilye paused, and her eyes seemed suddenly strong enough to see inside Aubrey’s head to her very soul. “Tell me why. There’s more than just homesickness in this, is there not?”

 _You can trust her. You can say._ “Let me tell you a story. A story about me—about me, and Evan . . .”


	12. Chapter 12

“On the fourteenth of October, 1990, my mother gave birth on the kitchen floor. The car wouldn’t start, you see. Luckily, the next door neighbour was a nurse . . . she cut the cord and placed the baby in my mother’s arms. My father helped them into the living room, and they fell asleep together, the baby fast asleep on mum’s chest. He was called Evan after my grandfather and Michael after the Angel. As it turned out, that would be the first and last time Evan would sleep straight through the night for nearly five years.

He cried . . . he cried _all_ the time. And if he wasn’t crying, he was sat in the corner of the living room with his head pressed against the plaster, tapping his little hands against the paint. He wouldn’t look at my parents, wouldn’t smile. But they loved him, so it didn’t matter.

Then, two years later, on the fifth of May, I came along. They managed to get to the hospital that time, Evan stayed with our grandparents, so I didn’t meet him until I was one day old. There’s a picture of our first meeting on the mantel—he’s sat on the hospital bed, holding me in his arms, and he’s _looking_ at me. _Right at my eyes._ Evan, who hadn’t met anyone’s eyes in his life, who wouldn’t smile and wouldn’t hug, was holding me and looking at me. I don’t remember that, of course, and I don’t think he does, but my parents never forgot.”

_o0o_

_“Your brother fell in love with you the moment he met you, didn’t you Evan?”_

_“Yeah,” he muttered, his green eyes—the same green as hers—fixed firmly on the beige carpet._

_“You’re so good for him,” their mother said fondly, ruffling two mops of identically blonde hair—hers wavy, his straight as a ruler._

_o0o_

“They knew even before then, they’d always known really, deep down, but it wasn’t until he was five that he was diagnosed with autism. I don’t know if elves have things like that. It makes him . . . different. Hard to interact with. It’s as though there’s the world, and then there’s Evan, and he’s not quite in it. As though there’s a barrier between him and us, and it’s not that he doesn’t _want_ us, not that he doesn’t _want_ to talk and hug and smile—he’s the most affectionate person in the world if you can reach him—but there’s a barrier there that he can’t get through, and I’m the only one who can reach in and touch him.

He doesn’t understand people, you see—but he is such a loving, yearning person that he thinks everyone is like him. Evan taught me two things: that blind trust is a beautiful thing, but a dangerous thing. And that people can be unimaginably cruel. If Haldir thinks he is the first man I’ve fought—my _God_ , is he wrong.”

_o0o_

_“Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, freak,” the boy snarled. There was amusement on his face even as he grabbed Evan’s slender chin and forced him to meet his eyes. Evan struggled, blinking rapidly, his hands spasming at his sides._

_“Hey!” the challenge was thin, in the voice of a small girl, but uttered fiercely and fearlessly. Love lent her the particular bravery that can only come to a protector. “Leave him_ alone.”

_“Are you going to stop me?”_

_He was big—bigger than her, bigger than Evan—but not the biggest she’d challenged, and Evan had a haunted look in his eyes that told her he wanted to scream for help, but the horror of unwanted contact and rough hands had stolen away his voice. Grimly, she said, “Yes.”_

_o0o_

“I’ve always been there to protect Evan, from the moment I was born. Even before I could speak I was his guide, and then I was his translator. Sometimes, he can’t speak, so I speak for him. When the world gets too loud and he can’t shut it out, I hold his hand and I take him in my arms and he focuses on me, only on me, until it stops. I don’t know if you have any siblings, Ilye—if you don’t, you can’t hope to understand—but he means everything to me. I cannot abandon him behind that barrier, I _cannot_ leave him alone.

_o0o_

_“Evan? Are you there?” She heard him moving behind the closed door, and then she could hear him breathing on the other side of the wood, his breath hitching every now and then. “Please open the door.”_

_“I can’t.” Short, and the words bitten off at the end._

_“Can I open it?”_

_A long pause and then the creak of his floorboards when he shifted his weight, before, finally:  “. . . yes.”_

_o0o_

I remember, once, when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. They’d gone to look around a flat that he would share with five other people at university. He looked around the flat, and then he turned to mum, and he asked her where I was going to sleep. He wouldn’t go away when they explained to him that I couldn’t be with him. Even now, he lives in the house next door to mine.” She trailed off, her lower lip trembling.

She tasted salt, and only then realised that tears were running in a steady stream down her face. “I’ve been here for over a month. He won’t know what’s happened to me. He’ll think I left him. And—and I let myself forget, for a while—let myself enjoy the training and enjoy being my own person, without him. How wrong is that? I—I wished, once, after I met you, that I wouldn’t have to go back. So _selfish.”_

She sank forwards, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Evan,” she gasped, her throat made raw by her long speech and the wracking cries escaping her. _“Evan.”_

Ilye’s arms came around her and the she-elf rocked them back and forth, drawing them away from the treacherous edge of the walkway. _“Shhhh,”_ she crooned, stroking her hands through Aubrey’s dark blonde hair. “I will help you. We will get you home.”

 _“Evan,”_ she said again. “I’m _sorry.”_  

 


	13. Chapter 13

Ilye paused outside the door of the largest talan Aubrey had ever seen. Deep in the heart of the city, the library dwarfed even Galadriel and Celeborn’s house. It spanned five levels of the city, and buzzed with elves like bees around a hive. The double doors in front of her with inscribed with flowing script— _tengwar_ , Ilye had called it, the written form of Sindarin. There was an elegant beauty to the letters, even if she had no idea what they said.

“Are you ready?” Ilye asked.

She nodded, setting one hand against the door. The wood was warm and smooth beneath her fingers and seemed almost to hum with life. “Yes.”

The solid door was heavier than she’d expected and she grunted with effort, laying her shoulder against the wood to shift it. Her exertion was forgotten when she saw what lay beyond the portal.

Shelves stretched high above her, walkways and ladders creating a fine web of passageway amongst them. Large windows let light stream into the cavernous building but instead of the marred, dust-mote spotted air of the archives she was used to working in, the air was as clear as crystal.

No silence in this library, either; elves recited passages of poetry to each other, called to each other between shelves, stopped at a scroll of music to try out a tune. Aubrey’s breath was stolen at the awe-inspiring sight.

“It’s . . . it’s beautiful,” she murmured, the awe of reverent faith in her voice.

Ilye nodded. “It is.”

Aubrey took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. “Where do we start?”

o0o

It very quickly emerged that not a single useful text was written in Latinate letters. Ilye sighed in consternation, setting another page covered in flowing, elegant script aside. “You must learn tengwar,” she said. “It is the only way.”

“Of course,” she said. “I had thought I would anyway. Don’t worry, it only took me a day or two to become familiar with _futhark_ runes.” At Ilye’s blank looks, she expanded, “They were used by some Norse societies, I work with them a lot back home.”

Ilye nodded. She took a blank piece of paper—not the smooth, white sheets of home, but a rougher, textured sheet, creamy and thick—and a well of ink. Aubrey watched, entirely absorbed, as she set out what looked like an alphabet. The letters seemed designed to convey beauty more than semantics. For a moment, she was horrified at the thought of having to write them herself—her blocky, efficient handwriting would surely butcher their elegant lines. Beneath each of the letters, Ilye inscribed their English equivalent, and the sound that they made. Aubrey smiled; she’d taught herself the _futhark_ runes in exactly the same way.

“This should serve you for learning the letters,” the she-elf said, setting the chart aside. “For now, I will read aloud.”

She turned to the first of the stack of books they had collected from the vast shelves. The books were a thing of extreme beauty—bound in leather that had been stained rich crimson, emerald, and lapis blue, their titles were stamped into the spines with glimmering silver ink. These were the Chronicles of Lórien, telling the history of the realm back through the millennia to when it had first been founded. They’d selected any book that contained even a mention of someone unexpected showing up in the city, and would, Ilye said, later move on to chronicles from other realms.

The elf selected one of the more slender volumes, bound in deep purple leather. “This account begins in the second age,” she said. “If I remember correctly . . . yes! Here—” she held the book open and traced a passage of text with her index finger. “ _On the fourth day of March, SA 2489, a mortal visited the Golden Wood. He had no memory of whence he came, nor even his own name.”_

Aubrey grinned. “That sounds promising. What happened to him?”

Ilye flipped forwards a few pages, frowning. “. . . there is no further mention of him,” she frowned.

Aubrey slumped, letting her head thunk onto the desk. “A dead end, then.”

“Not necessarily,” Ilye said encouragingly. “Do not forget—we are immortal. Someone may remember him.”

“Do you not?” Aubrey asked eagerly.

The elleth shook her head apologetically. “I was born at the start of the third age, only two thousand, five hundred years ago. The events chronicled in this book took place another thousand years before that.”

Momentarily stunned, Aubrey echoed, “Two _thousand,_ five hundred years? You’re _two thousand and five hundred years old?”_

Ilye gave a small smile. “Two thousand, four hundred and forty eight. Technically.”

She shook her head, bemused. “I can never get my head around these ages. How about Orophin, or Rúmil? Would they remember?”

“Orophin is only a hundred or so years my elder, and Rúmil is younger than I. Though—” and here, her blue eyes took on a thoughtful cast— “Haldir is over four and a half thousand years old. If anyone you know would remember, it would be him.”

 _Four and a half thousand years._ She swallowed, entirely dumbfounded. Such a number didn’t even comprehend in her human mind. _In my world, he would be older than the ancient Greeks . . . on a par with the Ancient Egyptians. All that he must have seen._ She rubbed at her temple where a slow headache was beginning to throb. “Do you think he would tell me about it, if I asked?”

Ilye shrugged. “I do not see a reason why he would not.”

o0o

When she arrived at the training field the next day, she was surprised not see Haldir waiting for her. Instead, Tornë, the elf she recalled had helped to escort her on that first, long ago trek into the city, directed her to a long, low hall.

The hall was one large room, a floor of white-gold sand stretching beneath a high vaulted ceiling. Haldir stood at the far end of the hall, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow. His outer tunic was discarded by the wall, his boots beside it, leaving him in only his trousers and undershirt. He gestured for her to similarly disrobe and then beckoned her to his side.

As she walked across the room, she revelled in the feeling of sand beneath her feet, reminiscent of the long stretches of sandy beach she loved to visit back home. She noticed that, though he must surely weight a great deal more than her—he cleared her height by a good ten inches, and was solidly built besides—his bare feet didn’t make an imprint in the sand. In contrast, perfectly formed footprints betrayed her path from the door.

“What are we doing today?” She asked.

“As inexperienced as you are in a fight, it is likely that you would be disarmed,” he began.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not the one refusing to teach me how to use a sword.”

“ _Therefore,”_ he intoned, “hand-to-hand contact is a vital skill that could keep you alive long enough to reach your weapon.”

She grimaced; she still wasn’t entirely sure what an orc was, but she was _certain_ she didn’t want to get close enough to one to employ hand to hand combat. “Before we start,” she said quickly, quashing her revulsion, “can I ask you a few questions?”

“No,” he said. “You may ask me anything you need to when we are done.”

Disgruntled, she nodded. He strode back to where he had left his boots and withdrew a long, slender dagger from a sheath concealed in one. “We shall practice disarming,” he said. “If you can get your opponent’s weapon away, you are not so disadvantaged—and if you manage to turn it on them, all the better. Now, the main advantage that you have against an orc is your intelligence. They are vicious beasts, but their minds are dull. If you move in close to one, they are as likely to stab themselves as they are you.”

“But they _might_ still stab me,” she said doubtfully.

A rare smile touched his lips. “Not if you do as I say. Now, come towards me. I move to stab you—” be brought the knife up and moved it in an exaggeratedly slow arc towards her. “Grasp my wrist,” he directed. She circled his wrist with one hand, feeling the play of tendons and muscle beneath the warm skin. “Good; now turn your back to me and step back against my chest.”

She stilled. “What now?”

“Step back against my chest,” he said brusquely.

Grimacing, she did as directed, finding herself suddenly in the cage of his arms. His chest was hot against her back and she could feel his breath parting the hair by her ear. She shivered, uncomfortably aware of how his pulse sped beneath her fingers on his wrist. “From here, you must injure me in any way that you can. An elbow to the stomach is effective, but orcs wear heavy armour on their torsos. But if you twist my wrist—yes, like that—my grip loosens and you can take the knife. Stab beneath the arm, in the neck if you can reach, or down into the thigh.”

She took the knife, the hilt warm from his touch, and made to stab at his thigh. He moved before the knife reached him, stepping a merciful distance away from her. “I hope that you never have need to come so close to an orc, but if you do, this could save your life. Now, before we practice once more, I suppose you may ask your questions.”

She beamed, handing back his knife. “You’re over four thousand, five hundred years old, right?”

He looked faintly surprised for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Indeed I am.”

“Can you remember things that happened three thousand years ago?”

He frowned. “That would depend upon the event.”

“Ilye and I are researching; a mortal man came to Lórien in the year 2489 of the second age. Do you remember what happened to him? Where he was from? Was he like me?” She asked eagerly.

“I was not in Lórien at the time,” he said. There was a touch of regret in his tone, if not quite apology.

She deflated like a pierced balloon. “Oh. So you—you don’t remember anything.”

“I’m afraid I was visiting Eryn Galen at the time. But—I do know that no one from another world has ever come to Lórien in my lifetime.” He went on.

“Have there been others before you were born?” She asked, ever hopeful.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. I would suggest you speak to the Lady Galadriel, for she is far older than I and her wisdom stretches even beyond her years.”

“I guess I will,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

He studied her for a long moment, before saying softly, “I am sorry I could be of no help to you. I assume you are attempting to get home?”

She looked up, surprised. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”

“People—eldar or edain—are only so passionate about two things, girl. Home, and family. You are trying to return to both, are you not?” He surmised.

She nodded. “Yes . . . I miss my home, but mostly it’s—”

“Evan?”

She startled, and fixed him with a fierce glare. “How do you know that name?”

“Peace, little mortal,” he retorted. “You talk in your sleep; I spent four nights dragging you through the forest, if you recall?”

“All too well,” she snapped. “But . . . yes. Evan is my brother. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain why I have to get back.”

He swallowed and looked away, tapping the blade of the knife absently against his thigh. “No. No, I do not.”

o0o

She heard the singing before she saw him. The song was sung in a mixture of Sindarin and English, the rhythm jaunty, and when she saw that is was Rúmil striding up the path to her talan, Aubrey pursed her lips, correctly interpreting the Sindarin lyrics.

She wasn’t sure where the town of Dale was, but apparently its lasses liked their ale, and when they became hale, they were like to—well, that was Rúmil.

“Good evening,” she greeted him, cutting off a creative rhyme about a certain lad’s ‘good luck’ and what it lead to.

He smiled blithely. “Hello, sweet lady.”

Aubrey wasn’t sure who had taught Rúmil the bits of common he’d learnt in the last few weeks, but she was decidedly ungrateful. The elf had proven to be annoying gifted at languages, and could already hold his own in a conversation. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes lit with delight, and she instantly regretted her choice of words. “Many, _many_ things,” he grinned. “But this night—this night, it is about what I can do for you.”

“I highly doubt you can help me. Unless you know of any other people who’ve fallen into this world?” She asked, daring to hope if nothing else.

“What I can do for you, is make you forget about—” he cast the piles of notes she and Ilye had collected in the libraries a dubious look. “—all of this.”

“Whatever you want, just spit it out. I don’t have the time for this now, Rúmil.” She said tiredly.

He crouched beside her bench, and rested a hand on her knee. She made to pull away but he held on with just a hint of the iron strength that reminded her who his older brother was, and how capable she’d seen him be with a pair of knives. When she met his eyes, she saw that the familiar, lascivious glint was gone—he looked entirely earnest. “Aubrey,” he said, “you need to take a break. All you do is train with Haldir and research with Ilye; you’ll make yourself ill. You need to relax.”

She pulled away, focusing back on an account of a young boy wandering into the woods some five centuries ago. With a sigh, she read that the boy had turned out to be a merchant’s son who’d wandered away from the mooring of his father’s Gondorian craft. “I can’t afford to relax. I spent too much time relaxed. I let myself be distracted for too long. Now I need to get home.”

He frowned in consideration. “Very well. Come with me tonight, and I will never bother you again.”

“You seem to think you bother me a lot more than you really do,” she murmured, sifting papers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for something in his tunic. The next second, he’d knocked her backwards onto the floor and stood over her work, a horribly familiar item in his hands. _Flint and steel_. His eyes were hard. “Come with me tonight, or I will set all of your work alight.”

“No! Stop—fine. Stop. I’ll come with you,” she said, panicked.

He withdrew and she launched herself at him, tackling him to the hard wooden deck of the flet. “You _bastard,”_ she hissed, elbowing him firmly in the stomach. He gasped, and she sent a silent, fervent thank you to Haldir for that particular move. But Rúmil had thousands of years on her, and as soon as the initial surprise of her attack left him, he had her pinned beneath him.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he whispered.

“You were going to _burn_ it,” she said, and was horrified to discover that there were tears on her lashes. “Everything I’ve done these last two weeks to get home—my notes—”

His eyes shone with sympathy. He rolled off her and let her sit up beside him, reaching out to rest one hand on her shoulder. When she did not protest, he pulled her into his arms and allowed her rest her head against his chest. She realised with a jolt of pain that he was almost exactly the same height as Evan. “No,” he said. “I would never have done that. But you _need_ to do something else, even if it’s just for this evening. I am worry about you,” he murmured.

She laughed weakly. _“Worried,”_ she corrected. “Still not quite bi-lingual.”

“Well, you have to be better than me at something,” he smiled. “Come with me. Have _fun_ tonight. What happened to the mortal who cheerfully told my brother where to go the first day she met him? I miss her.”

“Rúmil, I _have_ to—”

“Hush. There is no point returning to your Evan if there is no fun left in you, is there?” He pressed, standing and offering her a hand up.

Slowly, reluctantly, she clasped his warm hand in hers. “Okay.”


	14. Chapter 14

Rúmil led her down through the twisting, befuddling walkways until they reached the ground. Twilight was only just beginning to draw in, but the shade of the great trees meant that the forest floor was sunk in deep, inky shadows. The dark was intense in an almost physical way, unremitting except for small spaces where blue-white lights from the walkways filtered down. Rúmil led her through the patchwork of light and dark, his silvery hair gleaming even in the shadow.

Before long, even her weaker ears could pick up the sounds of the gathering ahead. There was music and laughter, and an insistent tattoo beating out into the night. She couldn’t imagine where the staccato sound came from, until they rounded the gigantic roots of a mallorn and she saw that it was the elves’ dancing feet upon the floor. She saw that they danced bare foot, dew dampening their pearlescent skin, and toed off her own boots.

Rúmil took her hand and tugged her forwards. “Come on, pretty thing,” he laughed, “join the dance.”

“I—I’m not very good at dancing,” she murmured. Watching the elves was addictive; their movements were languorous and timeless, though the heady beat was faster than any music she’d heard in Lórien before. She cast her eyes around for musicians, and finally saw them on the edge of the group—a flute rose like ship above the waves of the harpist’s pulsing arpeggios, and beneath it all, soft like rain falling on leaves and then as loud as a giant’s footsteps, a female elf cradled a drum on her lap.

Aubrey swallowed; the drum beat felt as intimate to her as her own heartbeat. She tried to find the words to describe the dance before her, and couldn’t seem to make a sentence. _Ecstasy_ was the perfect word the dancers’ faces, and _longing_ was their hands, sliding over each other’s skin, but _perfection_ was the shapes their feet made on the floor. She thought, perhaps, that the best word for the whole display was _life—_ but then she saw the way their fingers bent, trying to hang on to each other, only to be pulled apart and whirled around, and she decided that _grief_ would work just as well.

Rúmil was still tugging insistently on her hand, and she wasn’t fighting him anymore. They paused at the edge of the dancers—they moved like one fluid body, one beautiful creature with a hundred heads and two hundred legs to dance with—and she said, “In my world, there are legends of humans that dance with fairies. Elves.”

“What happens to the humans?” Rúmil asked. He’d put his head down next to hers, and his lips brushed the shell of her ear when he spoke.

She swallowed, and said, “If you dance with elves, you can never stop. They danced until they died. They got lost.”

“I promise you will not die—but you may get lost. Would you like to be lost, Aubrey?”

It was her name in his lilting, Sindarin-native voice that overcame her resolve. She tugged him forwards and he slid his arms around her, whirling them into the dance. She found that it didn’t matter that she couldn’t dance—because the music loved her, drew her in, until her feet were tracing the same elegant spirals as Rúmil’s, perfectly in sync with every other dancer.

His hands were warm on her hips, hers upon his shoulders. The harp plunged low, picking out a counter melody as deep as the ocean that resonated across the dancers and into her chest. Dizzy with motion and not quite lucid, she leaned upwards and pressed her lips against Rúmil’s. He did not look surprised, but, strangely, did not return her kiss. She had a sudden, sickening feeling of wrongness; that her hands belonged on another’s shoulders, that Rúmil’s were not the eyes meant to reflect hers—but she couldn’t find it in herself to care, not when the drum told her bare feet how to paint silver shadows on the moss, and the flute showed her how to arch her back and tip her chin up just enough to see the stars.

 _Is it possible to get drunk on music?_ She wondered abstractly. She wanted to laugh, but the exertion of the fast-paced dance stole her breath away. She could feel sweat forming on her brow and sliding down her neck—that didn’t matter; the elf dancing just behind her was near lathered, and joyful for it.

Suddenly, she wanted to dance alone. She slipped free of Rúmil’s reaching hands and away into the crowd of dancers. She thought she heard him calling after her, but his voice was lost in the music and the delighted welcomes she received from the other dancers. Elves clasped her hands and whirled her around, lifted her and spun her, stroked her hair and pressed themselves against her flushed skin.

She recalled reading, once, when Evan was newly diagnosed and she was seized with a crippling desire to understand him, a desire that never left and was never sated—that people with autism had trouble blocking out irrelevant stimuli, and so were bombarded all the time with an overwhelming amount of sensory information. Caught in the sweltering, smothering heat at the centre of the dancers, her heart climbing and crashing in time with the music, head ringing with laughter, she thought that she might, _finally,_ understand Evan’s pain.

She could no longer find the edge of the throng. The elves were all around her, moving so quickly that she lost their faces before she could recognise them. Her feet were beginning to ache, and she wanted her boots, but the music. The music was insistent, lifting her spirits until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever disliked dancing, until she couldn’t imagine stopping.

 _The stories were true_ , she thought dazedly. _I’m lost._

o0o

Haldir relaxed at the edge of the gathering, leaning his shoulders against the smooth buttress of a mallorn root, sipping at the glass of Dorwinion wine he held in his right hand, one ankle crossed over the other. He was not even armed, his sword hung carefully, reverently beside his bow and his many knives back in his talan.

It had been a very long time since he’d last attended one of these parties—the younger elves threw them often, lacing their music with just enough of the magic that was inherent in all the eldar to send the dancers into a haze. It had no serious effect and very little point, other than to make it a little more fun, and a little easier to forget that not a month ago, one of their own had died. He had to admit that the musicians at this dance were very skilled; even he was fighting the urge to join in with the compelling beat.  

Movement caught his eye on the far side of the dancers and he looked up sharply, instincts that he had formed in war never quite dulling. _Rúmil_. He sighed; Rúmil was somewhat notorious for finishing each dance with a different elleth, and he certainly seemed to have found a willing pair of arms this night. The elleth Rúmil was leading towards the dance turned her head, the tip of her curved ear catching the light beneath her dull blonde hair, and Haldir stiffened.

_The mortal._

He watched as they paused at the edge of the dance and exchanged a few words, the girl seeming almost breathless with trepidation, before stepping into the gathering and whirling away. He kept his eye firmly on them watching for—there. A dazed smile lit her features and she arched back in Rúmil’s arms, staring up at the sky with all the joy of a child. The heady music would do nothing but make a dour elf smile, but a mortal—a mortal with no magic of her own, and one unused to the tricks of elves . . . he was astonished she hadn’t passed out—or accosted someone.

He paced around the outside of the circle, watching his brother with the girl. He lost sight of them a few times, especially the girl’s shorter frame. He couldn’t imagine what Rúmil had been thinking, bringing the mortal to one of _these_ dances. _At least the idiot had the good sense to keep hold of her_ , he consoled himself—and then, even as he thought the words, she slipped from Rúmil’s arms and danced away, a dandelion seed caught in a wind that even she could not feel the power of.

He watched her dance, watched her twirl and step and skip, her hair flying out behind her like a dark gold raiment. She was smiling widely, drunkly, green eyes feverishly bright. She was _beautiful._

For a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to go and get her, simply watching the way she moved in perfect formations, but then the speed of the dance caught up with her imperfect mortal body, and she stumbled. The elves around her caught her and turned her slip into a graceful step, but he’d seen it, and knew it wouldn’t be long before she fell.

He clenched his teeth against the power of the music and strode forwards. He did not dance, but neither did he disrupt the dancers, moving through and around them in his own lonely ballet. He took her in his arms when he reached her, balancing most of her weight against his chest, but did not try to stop her dancing. Instead, he used the steps and spins of the dance to manoeuvre her to the edge of the throng, and away.

Dazed, she stumbled against his side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and supported her, walking them slowly out of the clearing and through the forest beneath the city until the music faded in his ears. She came back to herself as he let her fall against the soft, mossy ground.

She blinked up at him as one rising from deep water, and cast around, searching for anyone else, but they were alone in the small clearing that he had found. “Haldir,” she said softly. And then, “what happened?”

“You were dancing,” he informed her, not unkindly. “Our music can be very powerful, Rúmil should have known better than to let you dance.”

“I just wanted to have some fun,” she said sullenly.

“I know. There is no problem, you were simply becoming fatigued, so I escorted you away.”

She nodded lethargically. “I think . . . I think I kissed Rúmil.”

Rage swelled in his breast and he couldn’t stop a sharp gasp leaving his lips, though he had no idea why he should feel so strongly. He’d never taken an interest in Rúmil’s _activities_ before. “I am not surprised. The dance is like rich wine, it takes your inhibitions.”

She looked vaguely horrified. “Did he—did he take me there just so that I would kiss him?”

“I doubt it. He has been worried about you, the way you have withdrawn these past weeks. You do not eat in the hall anymore, and if you are not training with me, you are with Ilye in the library, or your talan. He probably quite genuinely wanted you to have fun. He will have forgotten what an effect the dance can have on mortals.” She looked relieved, and he couldn’t stop himself from adding nastily, “Though I doubt he was upset.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said defensively. “I think I’ve found something. I’m going to speak to Galadriel. Will she mind? _You_ didn’t mind, and you mind everything I do.”

With the air of one recovering from a blow to the head, Haldir blinked rapidly. “As you say,” he managed. “Are you quite alright? The effects of the music should not be so long lasting.”

She shrugged helplessly, and stood, swaying slightly. “I feel drunk,” she observed. “I haven’t been drunk since I came here. And for quite a bit before that.”

“Come, I will escort you to your talan,” he sighed, gesturing her ahead of him.

“Haldir,” she called, and he stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “If . . . if I kissed an elf again, it wouldn’t be Rúmil.” She said. He quirked a brow. For a long moment, she looked torn, as if she wanted to say more, but then her expression closed and she looked away. He led her back to her talan in silence, and left before she’d shut the door.

o0o

Aubrey expected to wake with a pounding head and a throat like the Sahara, so she was pleasantly surprised to feel refreshed and alert in the morning. _Elvish dancing,_ she thought absently as she dressed. _Get hammered without the hang over._

Unfortunately, she also remembered every detail of the night before—including the soft, warm press of her lips against Rúmil’s and the the anger that had burnt in Haldir’s eyes when she’d told him about the kiss. She sighed; she was far from an idiot, and a lifetime of interpreting social ques for Evan had left her pretty adept at it. She knew jealousy when she saw it, even if she couldn’t for the life of her think why Haldir would desire her.

She had no delusions; she was good looking and the training she’d received in Lórien had left her with a shapely, lithe figure—but beauty went only so far with the other-worldly attractive elves, and Haldir didn’t _like_ her. The animosity between them following Celedan’s death had settled into an uneasy peace, fraught with tension, but they were certainly not the friends she had once hoped they would be, and he seemed faintly revolted by her humanity, if anything.

On her part, she was certainly attracted to him—how could she not be, with his bold, handsome features and well built, athletic frame—but she had no interest in a relationship, especially not with a man who appeared to despise her. The dance aside, she had no time for levity and partying. She needed to return to her world and her brother.

She rubbed at her temples absently, chasing a headache that still had not occurred, and ambled over to the table that housed her many scrawled notes. She was due to meet Ilye in the library at noon, and she thought that she was close to a breakthrough with one of the texts that had been written in coded rhyme, for some reason.

 _I don’t have time for Haldir being jealous, or attracted to me,_ she told herself firmly. _I need to get home._

The dance—Haldir, Rúmil—all of it, both of them, were compelling. It was impossible not to be drawn in by this world, impossible not to fall in love with the beauty of Lórien, which somehow managed to exude both tranquillity and power. It would be easy, so _painfully_ easy, to slide into life here, to carry on with her training and forget all about returning home. God, in her old life she’d wished often enough, quietly and burning with shame, but wished it nonetheless, that Evan was gone. That she was free to do what she wanted, and she hadn’t even had the lure of Lórien then.

She steeled herself, clenching the papers tightly enough that her fingertips tingled. The people that wandered into faery rings in the stories were always eager to fall, she remembered. They shrugged away their responsibilities and danced away the centuries, falling in love with the beauty that they found. Every single one of them gave in to the lure of the magic, the freedom. And every single one of them turned to dust.


	15. Chapter 15

Haldir turned from the mortal’s closing door, and he _ran._ He followed the paths that would lead him higher and further away from the city centre. He had intended to stop at the highest flet in the city and watch the stars, but when he reached the small platform, his feet still burned with the need to be further away.

The walkway ended at the small flet, so he flung himself into the air, catching a tree branch with his outstretched hand and using it to lever himself up. He ran lightly through the canopy, never pausing for more than a heartbeat upon a branch, ducking and springing to compensate for the buckle of the thin branches so high up.

He stopped only when the branches became too thin to support his weight, swinging down to rest finally upon a thicker limb of the mallorn he had ended up in. He leaned backwards, his head coming to rest against the cool silvery bark of the mallorn tree. He pressed his fingers against the tree’s trunk, felt the life pulsing beneath his fingertips. He’d always found it calming to sit high in the trees this way; feeling the grounding life of the tree beneath him while he gazed up at the stars.

They called to him, those distant lights, stirring a strange, distant sadness that he thought couldn’t be too different from the sea-longing. He shuddered just thinking of it, that hated pull that had taken both mother and father from him. He remembered the fierce arguments before they had gone as clearly as they day they had happened.

 _How can you leave? Now, when finally the evil is gone, and we have peace?_ He had demanded of his father.

_It is because we have peace that I may leave. You are safe here now, you do not need me._

_I may not, but what of my brothers? Rúmil is a_ child. _He needs his nana and ada. You would abandon an elfling?_

His mother had sobbed, then, he remembered, gazing down at where Rúmil slept, cuddling a blanket to his tiny chest. _We cannot stay,_ she had whispered. _It is too much. I need peace, true peace. You are old enough to look after your brothers, Haldir._

And so they had gone, sailed away into the west. Haldir had refused to accompany them to the havens—partly because he was still furious with them for abandoning Rúmil before he was yet twenty, and partly because he was terribly, deathly afraid that he would feel the call of the sea himself. He had no wish to leave Lórien, or his brothers.

Over time, his anger had faded, until he simply missed them. He liked to imagine that, as he gazed up at Varda’s stars, his mother did too. _“Nana,”_ he whispered, shaking his head softly. “What would you think of this girl? This mortal child, caught up in our world?”

He knew, of course, that his gentle mother would have wanted to adopt the girl as her own.

Haldir shuddered, biting down on his lip. He didn’t understand this sudden fascination he seemed to have developed, and he didn’t want it. The infuriating girl was like an itch; easy enough to ignore when he was busy, but as soon as he was still, there she was in his mind, all consuming. He fought desperately against thinking of her, tried to shove the thoughts away with complex training schedules and brutal exercise, but always she came back, bringing such sweet relief with her.

 _Siren,_ he thought miserably, remembering the tales he had heard when he had visited Dol Amroth. Sailors there sang songs of beautiful creatures that sat upon rocks, luring men in with their captivating faces and their otherworldly voices.

The mortal’s voice was certainly otherworldly, but more in the way of an orc’s screech, he though uncharitably. He’d heard her humming and singing to herself in one of their training sessions, and had demanded she be silent after enduring a few lines of quite possibly the worst singing he had ever heard.

Even there, sat high in the canopy of his beloved Lórien, he could not stop thinking of her. He replayed again and again the bewildered, dazed sadness in her face when she confessed to kissing his brother, and the black, aching rage that had consumed him. He swallowed back the urge to punch Rúmil soundly in the face, and wondered when exactly he had begun to think of her as _beautiful._

“I do not _want_ this,” he hissed, turning his head and pressing his face against the mallorn tree. “Rid me of her, take that creature out of my forest,” he begged.

There was no response but the steady pulse of the forest’s life beneath his lips. “Please,” he whispered. “What is it that you want from me? Am I to destroy her? This creature that the enemy sends to distract me, to enthral my brothers and lead us all to ruin?”

The silent forest mocked him. His desperation grew until he was shouting his questions out, listening for anything other than the echo of his own furious voice. The forest had never failed him before; even his most obscure questions had been met with _something._ Perhaps it was _her_ influence, worming her way into his mind and obscuring his connection to the heart of Lórien. But no, that was not it. He felt the forest beneath his hands, even if it could not answer him. He subsided eventually, falling back against the limb of the tree.

Finally, he gave in to the building weight in his chest and pressed his hands firmly to the tree. _Show me,_ he thought, shaping the words with his lips against the bark even as he thought them.

He felt the familiar, relieving feeling of _expansion_ as the forest filled his mind, every single living thing becoming a part of him. The trees talked to each other, of course, and now they spoke to him. He let his consciousness wander along with them, slipping from tree to tree in an effortless mimicry of his frantic flight through the canopy. Finally he reached the large mallorn that cradled her talan in its branches. The dead wood of the talan jarred against the living spirit of the tree, but within the building, he sensed her. Hers was not the burning, joyful, verdant life of an elven fëa, but a softer, muted presence. It was like comparing the moon’s pale radiance to the light of the sun. _If only she were eldar,_ he thought hopelessly _. I could be sure that she was not one of the enemy, I could trust her, I could—_ he smothered the thought, refusing to even contemplate it.

 Hating himself for his weakness the longer he let his mind drift with the forest, he fell asleep high in the canopy, his fëa still adrift beside her.

o0o

Ilye was already at the library when Aubrey arrived the next day. Letting her pile of notes thud down onto the workbench, she supressed a flinch—she’d never get used to the carefree, noisy environment of the library here. She half expected someone to _shush_ her angrily.

“Have you made any progress?” Ilye asked, not looking up from the book she was examining.

For a moment, overwhelming gratitude and love filled Aubrey. Her elven friend had worked tirelessly on this project of theirs, pausing only to continue teaching her to read, write and speak Sindarin. She made to reply and found a thick lump in her throat. Coughing softly, she said, “I think so. I’ve decoded that peace. It was actually very similar to the way some Anglo Saxon poetry was laid out, with the rhyming word sounds rather than endings.”

Ilye nodded, concern briefly touching her features, but she shrugged it off. “What did you find?”

“It tells the story of a woman who appeared in a place called— _Imladris_ , I think.” She said cautiously, the unfamiliar name awkward on her tongue.

Ilye nodded sagely. “Yes, Imladris is an elven settlement across the Misty Mountains. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn’s grandchildren live there.”

Aubrey frowned; it was odd to imagine a couple who appeared as youthful as Galadriel and Celeborn having grandchildren, but generations didn’t really seem to apply to elves. “Anyway,” she went on. “This woman, Eruanna is her name, was found in a pool by a man called Elrond. There were no details about what happened to her, only that she had no memory.”

Ilye stood up, excitement plain on her face. “I know her,” she cried. “Eruanna is a friend of my mother’s, she lives there still!”

“She is an elf?” Aubrey asked, surprised. There had been no mention of the woman’s race in the poem.

Ilye nodded. “Yes, of course. We could contact her, Aubrey, we could find out where she came from!”

Ilye’s enthusiasm sparked in the air, but Aubrey could not quite bring herself to hope. “What if—” she said haltingly, “—she won’t tell me anything? And—she had no memory, what if she doesn’t know where she came from? It’ll just be another dead end,” she muttered, slumping into her seat.

“Do not be scared of this breakthrough,” Ilye said softly, taking Aubrey’s hands in hers. Her skin was a touch hotter than a human’s, and never failed to be a comfort. “Do not give up hope. The worst that can happen is that we will be back to where we began. Have you yet spoken to Lady Galadriel of our research?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been able to find her.”

Ilye smiled wryly. “You will not find Lady Galadriel,” she said. “Lady Galadriel will find you.”

o0o

Ilye’s prediction came true that very afternoon. Aubrey had left the confines of her talan and the achingly frustrating piles of her research behind to clear her head with a walk on the forest floor.

Taking care to avoid even the faintest whisper of music—she daren’t go near another dance, not when the feeling of Rúmil’s lips was fresh on hers, and the weight of Haldir’s pained eyes still pinned her down—she wandered aimlessly among the giant mallorn trunks, stepping lightly over the soft, mossy ground.

She became aware of a presence behind her when she neared the northern edge of the city. The trees here were smaller, more the size of spreading oaks than the unbelievable, dizzying height of the mallorn that supported Caras Galadhon. She turned sharply, scanning the dappled green and gold forest floor.

Galadriel stood not ten feet away from her, a flawlessly white dress exemplifying the radiance she emitted. All of the elves had a faint luminescence, like pearl under a lamp, but Galadriel and Celeborn seemed to shine like stars. Aubrey took an unconscious step back; the elf woman before her exuded power, and though she was evidently benevolent, she was intimidating.

“Greetings, Aubrey,” Galadriel smiled.

She nodded and clenched her hands into clammy fists. “Hi,” she said, then cursed herself for the pathetic greeting.

“You are doing research?” Galadriel went on, but Aubrey did not answer, for it was not really a question. She simply nodded, and went back to staring at the damp moss beneath her feet. “Do not fear me, child,” Galadriel said softly. “I would never do you harm.”

“I know that,” she replied, voice far firmer than she felt. Steeling her courage, Aubrey went on. “I had actually intended to ask you some things about it.” Galadriel nodded a silent invitation. “We found a text that talked about a man who came here in the second age. He was mortal, like me, and had no memory of where he came from.”

“I remember him,” Galadriel said. “His name was Tarnon.”

“Was he—was he like me?” She asked, her voice trailing away to a whisper as she spoke.

Sympathy touched the wise elf’s eyes. “I am sorry,” she said. “He was not. He was from the northern tribes; an injury had taken his memories. With our aid, he regained them and returned to his people.”

Expectation did not lessen the sting of Aubrey’s disappointment. She felt the slow burn of tears in her eyes and did not fight them, unashamed of her grief. “Every time I chase down a lead, I find another dead end,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Galadriel stepped forwards and reached out, catching one of Aubrey’s tears on her fingertip. “Do not be weighed down by your grief,” she murmured. Her voice was like a benediction.

“Do you know the answers I’m looking for? Do you know how I can get home?” She asked tremulously.

“Dear Aubrey, I told you upon your arrival here that to return would be impossible.” Galadriel reminded her.

She sniffed, wiping the soft cuff of her tunic across her cheek. “But—if I could just find out _how_ I got here, then maybe—” something stirred in the elf’s eyes, and Aubrey stiffened. “You know,” she realised. “You know what happened, you know how I was brought here!”

Slowly, reluctantly, Galadriel nodded. “I have seen it.”

“Tell me! _Show_ me, I have to know,” she begged. Her fists were clenched tightly enough that her nails bit into her palms.

“You are not ready,” Galadriel said. Her voice was firm, but not unkind.

Aubrey stopped, stunned. For a long moment, she couldn’t process Galadriel’s words—and then she did, and she was gripped by fury. “You have no _right_ to keep it from me,” she spat. “It’s my life, my history, I _need to know.”_

“You do not,” Galadriel said. Her voice had not changed in any way, but Aubrey was somehow reminded of the vast power she held, of the fact that _Haldir_ —massive, powerful, deadly Haldir—was willingly and gladly subservient to her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The she elf’s eyes softened. “Accompany me,” she said. “I shall show you something.”

She turned and walked away without waiting to see if Aubrey would follow. She hurried to follow, her feet sliding on the damp moss in her hurry. They did not speak as they walked. Galadriel led her on a winding route through the trees, mallorn, birch, oak and many more that she could not name. They were heading in the direction of the city, but the air around them seemed to grow quieter as they walked.

Aubrey knew that they were close to wherever they were going long before she heard or saw it—there was a _presence_ in the air, an ancient power not dissimilar to the one that surrounded Galadriel herself. Aubrey was reminded of the feeling she experienced when she stood with her feet in the sea, that of a vast power that was sleeping, but seethed beneath the surface, a power older than anything she could comprehend.

The glad Galadriel led her into was shaded and sunken into the forest floor; rough steps were hewn into the rock and flanked by statues of beautiful elven women. The statues cradled bowls of fire that cast flickering light into the shadowed hollow, but there was a foreboding cast to their bowed heads.

On the far side of the glade, a spring spilled into a wide pool. The water was like black glass, ripples shuddering across it every few seconds. Directly in the centre of the circular glade a low pedestal, carved with interlocking vines held a wide, shallow silver bowl. There was a tall, slender jug of the same shimmering metal balanced at the edge of the spring.

“This,” Galadriel said softly, “is my mirror.” She walked over to the spring and dipped the jug into the water, then, in a practiced, ritualistic movement, she poured the water in a glittering, shattering stream from high above her head into the silver bowl.

Aubrey moved forwards almost against her will. She was biting down on her lip hard enough to taste blood, and when she reached the pedestal, she had to fight down nausea. “What is it?”

“A gift from the Valar,” Galadriel murmured. Her eyes were fixed upon the silvery water, and Aubrey had the undeniable feeling that the elf saw far more than water in the basin. “It shows many things. Things that have happened . . . things that happen now . . . things that have not yet come to pass.”

“And this—this _mirror_ would . . . it would show me how I—” she broke off, unable to go on.

Galadriel nodded. “Do you still think that you are ready?”

Aubrey tightened her jaw and, very deliberately, looked down into the bowl. There was nothing there, but crystalline water. A breath of relief shuddered through her and she backed away. Sweat had broken out across her forehead and neck, cold and clammy on her skin. “No,” she admitted shakily. “I was not—I am not ready.”

Galadriel smiled a beautiful smile. “Perhaps one day you shall be.”

“When will I be ready? Do I have to do anything?” She pressed. She never wanted to look into that bowl again, but _Evan._

“You will know when it is time,” Galadriel promised. “But beware: few are prepared for what they learn in the mirror, and even fewer are pleased by what they see.”


	16. Chapter 16

Ilye sought her out as soon as she’d finished her training session. Her tunic was clinging to her body with sweat and her hair stuck to her lathered neck, but the ache in her muscles was pleasant, and she was still high on the triumphant feeling of managing to score a few decent hits on Haldir in their hand-to-hand bout.

She smiled when she saw Ilye and increased her pace, jogging up to meet her friend. “What are you doing here so early?” She asked, still slightly breathless.

Ilye’s eyes shone. “I have received a letter,” she beamed. “Eruanna is not sure how much help she may be, but she would be happy to see meet you and talk with you.”

“That’s excellent!” Aubrey gasped. “How could I—I mean, she lives in this Imladris, yes?”

“She does indeed. It is a long journey, and the mountain pass can be treacherous, but it is nothing beyond your capabilities, I am sure.” Ilye said happily.

“Would I be allowed to just go?” She asked, massaging a stiff muscle in her shoulder. “Don’t I need permission?”

“That is why I sought you out,” the she elf said. “I have spoken with the Lady Galadriel. We are to go to her talan at noon today, I assume she will give her judgement then. I am sure you shall be allowed to go, Aubrey. This is merely a formality.”

Nonetheless, her stomach had begun to churn with nerves. So much rested upon this meeting. This could be here key to getting home, to getting back to Evan. “You will come with me, won’t you?” She asked. “To Imladris?”

“Well, I have been invited to the meeting,” Ilye said soothingly. “I do not know whether I will be able to go to Imladris.”

“What? Why? If they let me go, surely they should let you!”

Ilye shrugged. “I could demand to go if I so wished, but I am an archivist here. I have apprentices and students that I cannot abandon for weeks on end. I have been able to set aside my own work to help you search for answers because I was ahead, but . . .” she trailed off, looking down sheepishly. “I am sorry, Aubrey.”

Aubrey shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Ilye. You’ve helped me more than I had any right to hope for. I can’t demand you drop everything and come on a jaunt across the world with me. I’ll go alone.”

Ilye grinned then. “Oh, I do not think that you shall be alone.”

o0o

Haldir was not surprised by the summons to the Lord and Lady’s talan; he was often summoned to discuss border patrols, training schedules, or new orders. What did surprise him was that, when he reached the lofty talan, Orophin was there waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked brusquely.

Orophin raised a slender brow. “Good day to you too, brother.” At Haldir’s impatient look, he continued. “I do not know. Lady Galadriel instructed me to wait until everyone was here—and no, I do not know who else is coming.”

Not entirely satisfied with his brother’s explanation but patient enough to wait and find out, Haldir stood before the bridge that crossed to Galadriel and Celeborn’s talan with his hands clasped behind his back.

Five minutes passed before ‘everyone’ arrived. ‘Everyone’, to Haldir’s horror, turned out to be Ilye and the mortal. Before he could demand to know what the girl was doing there, Galadriel and Celeborn graced the bridge, demanding his attention. He gave a stiff bow and then stood, ramrod straight, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

“I have a task for you, Marchwarden,” Galadriel began.

He thawed slightly; tasks were a familiar responsibility, whether they involved meddlesome humans or not. “My Lady?”

“Aubrey’s research into her past and how she came here has led her to an elleth of Imladris, Eruanna.” He nodded, he was familiar with the name, though he had never met her. “I wish for Aubrey to travel to Imladris and meet with Eruanna; Lord Elrond is prepared to welcome her when she arrives. Is this acceptable, Aubrey?”

The mortal looked as if she’d been knocked on the head. “I—yes!” She gasped, elation in her tone. “That’s more than I ever hoped for!”

Haldir had a feeling he knew exactly what his part in this would be. “I am to escort her?”

“Indeed. You and your brother should be an adequate escort for her.”

“But my duties as Marchwarden—” he protested.

“Rúmil and Tornë will provide adequate substitution for this short journey, surely?” Celeborn said mildly.

Haldir grit his teeth. “In such a precarious time, I do not like to leave Lórien; another orc attack may come from Dol Guldur, and if the pass is blocked by snow, we could be months away.”

Celeborn frowned in acknowledgement. “I flatter myself equal to the task in that case, mellon nin.”

Haldir sighed; he could do nothing but concede Celeborn’s capability. “What of Ilye?” he asked resignedly. “Is she to come too?”

Galadriel gave the young elleth a contemplative look. “I think not. Ilye’s place is in Lórien for now; she would do well to stay and continue her research. Is that acceptable?”

Ilye looked rather put out, but nodded. “Of course, my Lady.”

Celeborn took his wife’s hand and inclined his head to the party. “Then I bid you fare well and a swift journey.”

Haldir bowed once more and turned on his heel, flicking a hand to indicate Orophin should follow him. The brothers fell into step, Haldir silently seething. They turned a full rotation upon the spiralling staircase before he turned around sharply, his arms flying out in his anger. “Am I nothing but a cheap body guard to a mortal, now?” He demanded.

Orophin glanced upwards; the mortal in question was only a level above them on the stairs. “She will hear you,” he chastised.

“I don’t care,” Haldir retorted. He ran a weary hand over his face and let out a long, heavy breath. “Go. Pack. I will meet you in the outer courtyard in half an hour.”

Orophin nodded and clasped his shoulder in farewell, not quite an embrace but enough to quiet Haldir’s rage. Cursing under his breath, the Marchwarden waited on the stairs for Ilye and the mortal. When the two women rounded the corner, he strode forwards and grasped the mortal girl’s elbow, tugging her along behind him.

She allowed him to drag her down three steps before she began to fight. “Hey, _hey!_ Let go,” she cried.

“Be silent,” he snapped. “We need to hurry, I want leave before the hour is done.”

“Fabulous,” she hissed. “We’ll go a lot quicker if you don’t _dislocate_ my _elbow.”_

He released her, instead pushing her forwards with a hand between her shoulder blades. “You need to pack for a long journey, but you must pack light. I shall fetch a bow, quiver and knife for you. Take the thickest cloak you own, the Mountains are treacherous and chill.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” she said hastily. He made to hurry away, when she called him back. “Where shall I meet you?”

“I shall collect you from your talan. If you are not ready to leave in twenty minutes, we will not go at all.”

o0o

Aubrey had never packed so quickly in her life. She stuffed spare underwear, tunics and breeches into a small leather rucksack, along with the warmest blanket that would fit in the overstuffed bag. She didn’t really know what the rush was—this Imladris was hardly going to go anywhere—but she’d long accepted that she didn’t know much about this world. Maybe Imladris disappeared if you got there late.

She was fiddling with the brooch clasp of her cloak when Haldir banged her door open and strode into her house. _Rude._ He wore the same silvery green-grey clothing that he had worn when they first met, completed by one of the long cloaks the wardens wore that made them near enough invisible when they did not want to be seen.

His hair, usually loose about his face with only a clasp to keep it away from his face—was adorned with double rows of neat braids from his temples and a braid down his back. The loose section was perfectly smooth and unruffled, though he must have dressed in a hurry. Aubrey cast the flyaway strands from her own braid a rueful look.

“Are you ready?” He demanded.

She finally succeeded in closing the brooch clasp. “Yes, all packed.”

He cast a critical eye over her small bag, and nodded his approval. “That is adequate. Here—put this on your belt.” He handed her a sheath containing one of the long, slender knives that the wardens carried. She took it reverently, feeling almost as if her hands would mar the smooth, white hilt or the elegant, tooled blade.

A bow and quiver were similarly presented, and then he was hurrying her out of the door. She had to jog to keep up with his long strides. They made their way down to the forest floor and he led her onto a path she had never seen before. It was paved in stone, unlike any pathway she had ever seen in Lórien before, and appeared well traversed.

“I—hope we won’t be—going this fast—all the way,” she gasped, shooting him a filthy look.

He didn’t spare her a glance. “We shall not be walking,” he said tersely.

She stumbled on the cobbles in surprise. “What now?”

He looked at her then, a look that balanced pity and mockery perfectly. She wanted very much to hit him, but was too busy wondering how on earth she’d managed to become attracted to the arrogant ass. “We will ride, mortal.”

“Um. Ride. As in, horses?” She checked.

He frowned. “What else? I’m sure you know horses.”

“Well, not biblically.” She quipped. “But more or less.”

“You _can_ ride?”

“That,” she said, “would be the _less.”_

He gave her a pained, long-suffering look. “If it were not for my sworn oath to the Lady,” he told her icily, “I would refuse to take you to Imladris. Can you not be content with being a burden in one realm?”

She glared hotly at him but did not dignify him with an answer. By then, she could see a large building at the end of the paved way. The building was long and low, built out of wooden beams, and though it had not the ornate carving as the rest of Caras Galadhon, there was a very functional beauty to it.

The soft sounds of horses filled the air, along with the sweet smell of hay and fresh straw. Orophin stood in the large, square yard, three horses tied beside him. Aubrey’s eyes grew wide; the horses were far larger than she’s anticipated. Falling off one of those would _hurt._ Two of the horses had already been tacked up, and Orophin was just finishing strapping the saddle bags to the third. Haldir walked straight to the largest horse; it was the colour of a summer cloud; white flecked with darker grey. The dappled beast dipped it’s large head and nosed at Haldir’s chest; he pushed it affectionately away.

“This is Celeroch,” he said curtly, unbuckling his quiver, bow and scabbard and attaching them to his saddle.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Aubrey bit out.

The second horse, which was a vivid red-brown—chestnut, she thought the word was—swung its head around at the sound of her voice. She startled back and Orophin stepped forwards quickly, grasping the animal’s bridle. “Sirdal,” he murmured, passing a hand over the horse’s neck, and it quieted.

Haldir clicked his tongue and the third horse approached him. This one was slightly smaller than the other two—though still far bigger than Aubrey was comfortable standing next to, let alone riding. Its coat was dark, dusky brown and it blinked at her with liquid eyes. “This is Fingo,” Haldir said. “He will carry you to Imladris.”

Fingo didn’t seem too happy about this information. He shook his head and snorted when she approached him. A sharp word from Haldir stilled him, but he seemed as eager to meet Aubrey as she was to meet him. “I don’t think he likes me,” she said doubtfully. “You know, I really don’t mind walking.”

“He senses your fear, mortal,” Haldir retorted. “Do not be a coward.”

That did it. She marched forwards and took the loose reins from his hands, only flinching slightly when Fingo’s massive head swung around towards her. “Can you, uh, help me up?” She asked quietly.

“Grasp the pommel,” Haldir said, and then, with no other warning, he bent and grasped her leg, boosting her up off the ground. She shrieked, only just writing herself by grabbing Fingo around the neck. It was a miracle she didn’t topple off the other side; she had only just begun to right herself when the damned animal shifted and began to pace forwards.

“Stop!” She cried, scrambling to try and grasp the reins whilst keeping her precarious balance. “Stop! Halt! Brake, Fingo!”

“ _Daro!”_ Haldir’s voice cut through the air like a whip. Fingo froze and, when Aubrey finally managed to pull herself upright and fit her boots into the dangling stirrups, she saw that the horse was looking somewhat contrite.

She looked over and saw that Orophin and Haldir had mounted. Orophin seemed to be trying to contain his laughter. Aubrey flushed; neither of _their_ horses had moved an inch. Haldir cast her a withering look and shook his head. “Try to control your horse,” he said scathingly.

She glared right back. “Just tell me where the brakes are.”

 Orophin rode up beside her. “Squeeze his sides with your legs to move him on,” he said gently. “Bring his reins in to your stomach to stop him, and turn him by bringing the rein out.”

She gave the horse and experimental tap with her heels. He flicked an ear, but nothing more. “I squeezed him,” she muttered.

“Not hard enough,” Orophin laughed. “Try once more.”

Her face still burning with humiliation, she dug her heels into Fingo’s sides as hard as she could. For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t move, but then he shifted his weight and slowly, reluctantly stepped forwards.

Haldir moved his horse in front of Fingo with an exasperated shake of his head, and a muttered ‘ _finally.’_ “I will lead; Orophin you take the rear. Mortal, can you control the horse or not?”

She tightened her grip around the leather reins determinedly. “Yes. As long as—we’re not going fast, right?”

“We shall not,” he confirmed. “If you are not capable, I can run a lead rope from Celeroch to Fingo.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “I can do this.” 

He tilted his chin up haughtily. “That remains to be seen.”

o0o

Aubrey stared glumly at the rope that stretched from Haldir’s saddle to Fingo’s bridle. She’d managed to keep her horse going in the right direction—for the most part—but the damned thing kept stopping to eat, and after the third time that she’d nearly fallen out of the saddle trying to yank the beast’s head up, Haldir had given her a stony glare and slipped the rope through a ring on Fingo’s bridle.

Being lead like this— _towed,_ her mind supplied grumpily—felt a hell of a lot like failing. She glanced back; Orophin was holding Sirdal’s reins in his right hand; his left lay relaxed upon his thigh.

“Orophin,” she called quietly.

He looked up sharply. “Yes?”

She wrinkled her nose; the rope was long enough that Haldir and Celeroch were a good two horse-lengths in front of her, but she knew he’d hear her anyway. “Could you—could you teach me how to ride better? I mean—so I could do it by myself?”

He smiled widely and urged Sirdal up beside Fingo. “Of course,” he said willingly. “First I shall tell you that you are holding your reins wrong. And you wanted to go to Rohan! They would have laughed you from the kingdom.”

Her ears burned at his teasing but it was good natured, and when he reached across to alter her hold on the reins, his hands were gentle. When she was holding the reins correctly, Orophin studied her critically. “Sit straighter,” he told her. “And—” he broke off, frowning. “I do not know how to say it in Westron,” he admitted.

He called to his brother in Sindarin and Haldir looked back. “He says that you need to be more gentle on the reins.”

“But he won’t _listen_ to me,” she protested.

Haldir dropped back then until they rode three abreast on the paved road. “You are yanking at his mouth, of course he will not listen. You must have a firm hand, yet be soft on his mouth. Convince him that _you_ are in charge.”

Haldir reached across and untied the rope from Fingo’s bridle. Immediately, he began to veer towards the grass that grew at the side of the road. “Check him,” Haldir encouraged her. “Use your legs.”

It took a sharp tug on the reins and a firm leg to his side, but Fingo straightened out. Elated, Aubrey let out a surprised laugh. “It worked!”

Orophin smiled. “His is a well-trained horse,” he said.

“ _He,”_ Haldir corrected, offhand.

They fell into silence then, the horses still walking companionable side by side. Aubrey looked about her, taking in the unfamiliar view of the forest. The road they were steadily making their way down was long and straight. Off-white cobbles paved the way, the uniform shade broken up where small clumps of grass and clover had broken through the paving.

“Why didn’t we come this way when you first brought me here?” She asked. “It looks a lot easier going.”

“It is a longer route. The horses cannot manage the thick forest, but this road takes a day longer to reach the edge of the forest.” Haldir replied.

Neither of her companions seemed eager for conversation, so she let herself soak in the noises of the forest. The familiar sound of the wind in the trees was harmonised by loud, sometimes raucous bird song—and, new to Aubrey—the sharp percussion of shod hooves on stone, and the melody of saddle leathers creaking and harnesses clinking.

The gentle, side-to-side motion of the horse’s walking lulled her and it was not long before the warm day and early start caught up with her, and she began to doze. A hand fell on her shoulder and she startled. “What?” She asked, looking up quickly.

“I would not advise falling asleep in your saddle until you are much more accomplished rider,” Haldir told her.

She nodded and looked away. She was _bored._ Sneaking a glance up at the stern Marchwarden, she began to hum quietly. He closed his eyes as if in pain and groaned. “Must you make that awful noise?”

“I _like_ singing,” she protested.

“As do I—the difference between us being that _I_ can hold the tune,” he said smugly.

“Well then, _you_ sing,” she ordered him. “I’m bored.”

He did not speak, and for a long time, she thought that he was simply ignoring her, but then a deep, soft voice filled the air. He sang in his own tongue, the words too embellished for her to understand them.

_“Hae ephadron_

_theri thaur_

_am na dhû_

_ias fîr i ambar_

_A trehil i 'alad 'lân uir tri 'wilith.”_

He fell silent, but the last notes of his song still lingered. Shivers ran over every inch of Aubrey’s skin; she felt as if the very notes of his song had reached inside of her and lodged within her, resonating with her breath and heart beat until they were as much a part of her as her own blood. Most disturbingly, she didn’t know whether the music affected her so much because it was beautiful, or because it was _Haldir._

She found herself breathless with awe. His voice reminded her of deep water; rich and full yet light over the notes. She understood, now, how the dancing had so bewitched her the other night. If that was what one simple verse could do, she dreaded to think what she would have done had there been a singer at the dance. She’d probably not have stopped at kissing Rúmil—and who knew who else could have fallen victim to her _overtures._

“That . . . that was beautiful,” she said at last, when she had regained the use of her voice. She almost winced at the sound of her own speech—it seemed dry and harsh against her ears after Haldir’s singing.

He said nothing to acknowledge her praise, but inclined his head ever so slightly. On her other side, Orophin frowned. “ _I have not heard you sing in years,”_ he observed.

Aubrey understood enough Sindarin to pick up his statement, but diplomatically said nothing when Haldir still did not comment. Instead, she asked, “What does it mean?”

He sighed softly, and finally turned to her. “It means, _I go walking beyond the forest, where the world falls away, and the white light of forever fills the air.”_

“It’s about stars,” she realised.

He nodded curtly, then shook his head in the manner of one chasing away unwelcome thoughts. “Come,” he said, sounding much more like himself. “I want to reach a decent campsite before dark.”

He spurred Celeroch into a brisker walk. The other horses happily matched the pace, and Aubrey was forced to concentrate on staying in control of Fingo. She did note with some satisfaction that, though they stayed on either side ready to intercede, neither Haldir nor Orophin reattached the lead rope.

o0o

Night was beginning to gather when they finally came to a halt. The ‘campsite’ turned out to be nothing but a small clearing beside a stream, but Aubrey would have been happy with a putrid swamp if it meant getting off the horse.

When people talked about horse riding, they had never bothered to mention how much it _hurt._ The insides of her thighs had been chafed raw by the saddle and her muscled were burning. She thought ruefully that her arse might never be quite the same. Haldir and Orophin pulled up their mounts and jumped effortlessly to the ground, leading the horses over to a tree. They slipped their bridles off and retrieved halters from their saddle bags, leaving the bridles and saddles in an orderly pile beneath the shelter of the tree.

Celeroch and Sirdal settled happily to graze, stretching out their necks and whickering softly. Impatient to join them, Fingo snorted and pawed at the ground. Aubrey looked helplessly to her guides. “How do I, uh, get down?” She called.

Chuckling, Orophin walked to meet her. “Lean forwards and then swing your leg over his back.”

Aubrey eased her stiff, painful legs out of the stirrups and did as she was instructed. The moment her feet touched the ground, however, her knees buckled and she went sprawling across the floor. Orophin couldn’t contain his laugh. “Are you alright down there?” He asked cheerfully, leading Fingo over to the other two horses.

Aubrey gave a pained moan. “I don’t think—I’ll—ever walk . . . again,” she gasped. Fiery agony lanced through her legs and lower back. “I feel like I’ve been doing the splits for days,” she whimpered.

A hand appeared above her head. She squinted in the gathering dark and made out Haldir’s face; a smirk played about his lips, but at least he wasn’t out and out laughing at her like Orophin. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Walk it off,” he advised. “You will be far worse in the morning if you do not stretch now.”

Slowly, painfully, she began to walk around the clearing, bracing her hands against her hips. “How far is it to this Imladris?” She asked.

Haldir did laugh then. “Three weeks, approximately. If the pass is completely clear—a little less. If it is not—maybe months.”

Her mind refused to comprehend such a distance. She settled for walking the neat circle around the fire Orophin had built, each step a little easier than the last. By the time she sat down next to the two brothers to eat a small supper of waybread and cheese, the pain was bearable.

She ate her meal slowly, replaying the day’s long ride. Confusion grew in her the more she thought of it. When Haldir left to gather water and hobble the horses, the turned eagerly to Orophin.

“Is Haldir ill?” She demanded of him.

He looked surprised. “No? Why do you ask?”

“He’s been so—so _weird_ lately. Ever since . . .  ever since Celedan, really. He’s so cold to me one moment, and so harsh in his manner, but then the next—” _the next, he’s helping me walk off a long ride, or escorting me home from some stupid, intoxicating dance. Or singing._

She couldn’t voice her thoughts aloud, but by the smile on Orophin’s face, she did not need to. “He is not ill, no.” The elf grinned. “He is merely conflicted and confused. Do not let him take it out on you, he does not truly mean it.”

She huffed, settling down onto a blanket she’d spread beneath her. “Damn elves,” she muttered. “I wish you would speak plainly. Just _once.”_

 _“_ It is not I you should wish plain speech from, dear Aubrey,” he beamed.

She rolled over, too tired to decipher his games. “Whatever,” she murmured sleepily, rubbing her face against the soft edge of her blanket. “You can keep your secrets.”

“Just as you keep yours,” he retorted.

And how could she say anything to that? She found sleep quickly, and was snoring softly by the time Haldir returned.

o0o

Haldir woke before the dawn. His sleep had been fitful and troubled, not helped by the mortal snoring and snuffling only three metres away from him. He allowed himself to simply _sit_ for a while, taking in the atmosphere of the pre-dawn woods.

Even his sensitive eyes had trouble picking out details in the intense dark. The forest thought was a study in colours even in so little light. The trees loomed dark, grey-purple shadows over the blue-black water of the stream. Behind him, the low embers of the fire glimmered like polished amber in the night.

He walked slowly away from his brother and the mortal, sinking to his knees beside the stream. He cupped water and took a long, slow drink, then scrubbed his face and neck. The water in this stream, a tributary of the Celebrant, ran straight off the Misty Mountains, and was icy cold. It cleared the last of his dreams from his head and he gratefully took another drink, until his hands began to smart with the cold.

Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of a large body moving, and then, a moment later, Celeroch stood over him. The stallion nuzzled at the top of the kneeling elf’s head and huffed, sending warm, hay-scented breath over Haldir. Laughing softly, Haldir pushed the horse away and stood, digging a shrivelled apple from his pocket. Celeroch accepted it with astonishingly pretty manners for a horse his size, lipping it carefully from his outstretched palm.

Without his realising, his eyes had drifted to the girl’s sleeping form. It still unnerved him to see her sleep with her eyes closed, her breaths so slow that each might have been her last. He had to forcibly remind himself that it was normal, _healthy_ for mortals to sleep like that. Her hair had spilled out if its plait in the night and fell around her face in wild, untameable curls.

He knew he should look away. He needed to bank the fire and feed the horses, needed to pack away his bedroll and wake Orophin. But he so rarely got to feed this odd, uncomfortable obsession of his by something as simple as watching her. In the close darkness of the almost-dawn, it was easy to get lost in the way her tawny eyelashes caressed the soft skin of her cheek. If she woke, she wouldn’t be able to see him staring at her, wouldn’t be able to see how his eyes softened. He was safe in the dark.

He wrenched his eyes away and stalked furiously over to the horses. He thought, perhaps, that he hated her for the churning, boiling confusion warring within him. Three weeks— _more_ —with her, it would be agony.

He recalled the stubborn set of her jaw when she insisted that she could ride by herself, and then the awestruck, reverent expression when he had sung her the song his mother had lulled him to sleep with as an elfling. He realised that even if he couldn’t trust her, couldn’t bring himself to _like_ her—he could hate her even less.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Aubrey craned her neck, trying to see the top of the aptly named Misty Mountains. They rose above her, lit by the light of the rising sun, so high that their shattered, jagged peaks were shrouded in clouds. They’d reached the foothills late in the afternoon of their fifth day travelling and had been slowly making their way through the low rises. Haldir had commanded them up before dawn on the morning of the seventh day, and they’d reached the real mountains just as the sun rose at their backs.

“They’re so high,” Aubrey breathed. She thought of the softer, rounded, weathered Pennine mountains of her home. These great peaks were far more dramatic and probably three times as high. Instead of the grassy, heather sewn slopes she remembered, sheer slate rose before her, unbroken by anything but the toughest alpine plants.

Beside her, Orophin hummed in recognition. “They must seem so, seeing them for the first time.”

Haldir looked back to where they had stopped. “We must move on,” he said brusquely. “I want to get onto the pass before noon. Dismount; we shall walk the horses up this steepest section.”

Aubrey groaned; though the agony of riding had slowly faded after the first few days, the long hours in the saddle still left her raw and stiff. With Haldir’s typical ‘trial-by-fire’ way of teaching, she’d quickly grown accustomed to the horse, and though she was nowhere near the intuitive, effortless riding of her companions she’d become confident enough on the horse to ride without aide. Mostly.

She gazed glumly up at the steep path that wound high into the mountains and slid from Fingo’s back, grunting in pain when her sore knees jolted. She pulled the horse’s reins forward over his head and followed behind Haldir, allowing Orophin to take the rear.

The path was barely wide enough for the horses to walk through, and loose shale made it treacherous underfoot. Sheer rock walls rose up on either side of her, leaving her feeling both horribly enclosed and entirely exposed to any attack. She glanced uneasily up at the top of the gorge they were walking through and could see nothing but a ribbon of pale sky and the distant silhouette of a gliding bird. It was not long before the claustrophobic path opened out on one side; looking down at the dizzying drop that only grew longer with each step, Aubrey wished it had not.

The sun was hot on the back of her neck and the incline was ever steeper. She felt beads of hot sweat form on her neck and forehead and shuddered, cursing the thick travel cloak that had so far turned out to be completely unnecessary. However, all of her training was not for nothing. She revelled in the new strength in her legs, carrying her up the sheer path with no more effort than she would once have spent walking along a flat road.

They had been walking for over an hour before Haldir signalled them to a halt. The path was slightly wider where they stopped and an overhang gave precious shade from the sun. The long weeks beneath Lórien’s lush canopy had made Aubrey used to the cool shade; the unforgiving sun on their trip made her head ache.

“We will rest here,” he said, “we have half an hour.”

Aubrey frowned; he usually let them rest for only ten minutes, anxious to get to this Imladris as quickly as possible. He noted her quizzical look and inclined his head. “We do not want to become exhausted in these mountains,” he said. “There is more here to worry about that foul weather.”

  1. She’d heard them discussing the foul creatures, deep in the night when they thought that she was asleep, and always in Sindarin—but really, _Yrch_ was not a hard translation, and she’d heard the word enough after Celedan’s death to know what was worrying Haldir.



She was about to ask him outright was he referred to, demand the truth from him—How could she defend herself if she didn’t know what from?—but Fingo came up behind her and pushed his nose against her shoulder, snorting. She sighed and turned to him, bending to check his hooves for any lodged stones. When she turned back, scratching absently at the gelding’s withers, Haldir was tending to his own Celeroch.

She sat back against the rock face, Fingo’s reins loose in her hands, and looked out over the edge of the path. The mountain fell away from the path in a steep slope scattered with scree. A stream cut through the narrow valley below, bubbling over rocks and thundering down small falls. Just one slip on this narrow path could send her down there; they’d climbed up perhaps two hundred feet so far with much further to go; it wasn’t hard to imagine her body tumbling down into the ravine at some point. She swallowed and backed further into the rock face.

“How long will it take us to get to the other side of these mountains?” She asked haltingly.

Haldir looked over. “Depending on the weather—about a week. It could be more.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

He frowned and stood, pacing to her side. “You are frightened,” he said. He didn’t phrase it like a question, and she merely shrugged in response. He crouched at her side and met her gaze. “Do not be. You will not fall if you are sure of foot. Fingo will not let you.”

She nodded distractedly. “I never minded heights,” she said. “The high walkways in Lórien don’t bother me.” She felt the need to protest her nerve.

He smiled slightly. “I know. But the mountains are different, are they not?”

Orophin piped up, “I do not like this path either.”

She steeled herself and stood. “I’ll be fine. The sooner we get up there, the sooner we’ll be down, right?”

The brothers nodded. “Rest now,” Haldir said. “We have a good way to go before we will ride again.”

o0o

A shadow fell across the book Ilye was reading, and she looked up sharply. She frowned, surprised at who she saw leaning over the table she had occupied in the great library.

“Do not be so shocked,” Rúmil said tartly. “If my brothers will travel to Imladris to help this girl, surely I can read a few books?”

Ilye made to say something in rebuttal, then stopped. “You—want to help me?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Would you reject my offer of aide?”

“Not at all!” She said quickly. She’d been surprised how much her work had slowed down without Aubrey’s endless enthusiasm and talent for research, but she had almost ground to a halt without her human friend. “I’ve been trying to follow these two leads for the past three hours, but I can find no other source for them.”

“What would you like me to do?” He asked, pulling back a chair and sitting opposite her.

“You could . . .” she paused, scanning the assorted books before her and turning back to look at the shelves above her. “Retrieve that book for me, on the third shelf from the top . . . the one bound in green, yes.”

Rúmil crossed to the book case and leaned up. Ilye swallowed thickly; his tunic shifted when he reached up, exposing his pale stomach, toned by long hours of training. She tore her eyes away, feeling suddenly very flushed, and tried desperately to stop thinking about Aubrey’s description of kissing Rúmil when she was dance-drunk.

“Are you well, Ilye?” Rúmil asked, setting the book down beside her. “You are flushed.”

Damn him, there was a teasing glint in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what was wrong. “I am quite well, thank you.” His smile did not fade. “Here,” she said brusquely, depositing an armload of large books in his arms. “Read these.”

“Of course, Ilye,” he beamed. “You have only to ask.”

o0o

Haldir halted their party well before dusk, unwilling to risk the treacherous pass without full light. They had not ridden at all that day, even when the path eventually levelled out and widened, taking the chance instead to save the horses. By the time they reached a section of the path that was wide enough and sheltered enough to be a suitable campsite, Aubrey’s legs were aching almost as much as they had on the first day of riding.

High up in the mountains, the air was cold enough that her breath misted before her. She drew her cloak tighter around her, finally glad of its warmth. Numbed by the cold, her fingers were clumsy and useless on the small, elegant clasps and buckles of Fingo’s tack. She spent so long arguing with the stiff buckle on his girth that by the time the horse was untacked and hobbled, Haldir and Orophin had a small fire banked against the mountainside.

She hurried to join them, kneeling by the fireside and holding her hands as close to the small flames as she dared. “It’s _freezing_ up here,” she grumbled, hunching her shoulders.

“I told you to bring your thickest cloak,” Haldir said.

“I _did_.”

He cast her a sideways look but said nothing more, merely reached for his belongings and shouldered his quiver and bow. “Come with me,” he directed. “Will you stay with the horses, brother?”

Orophin nodded, and Haldir stood, gesturing Aubrey with him. She scrambled to follow, wondering what exactly she had done to warrant extra exercise. “Where are we going?” She demanded when she caught up with his long strides.

“We’re gathering food,” he said quietly. “And, if you do not scare off every animal and bird from here to the Grey Havens, I may find us some meat.”  

A part of Aubrey—the part that had always wanted to be a hunter-gatherer, complete with reindeer skin pants—was buzzing with excitement, but in the rapidly fading light the larger part of her was more concerned with tumbling down the mountain side. She stepped closer to Haldir and followed his steps exactly, trusting his better eyesight.

It was not long before the sheer wall of rock to one side was broken by a tumbling stream that spilled across the path and fell into the valley below. Aubrey paused to admire the waterfall from the top, gasping in delight when she saw how the fading daylight still made the falling drops into tiny, rainbow-hued crystals.

Haldir led her around the stream and then took hold of the rock face, pulling himself up onto a ledge she had not seen in the dim light. “Up here,” he encouraged her, reaching down to help her up. Aubrey took his hand and braced her foot in a small hollow in the rock, grunting with the effort of heaving herself up.

“You—said—we were—getting _food_ ,” she grunted. “Not— _rock climbing.”_

“It is only one small ledge,” he scoffed, pulling her up the rest of the way. She clambered over the lip of the ledge and, seeing how narrow the small platform was, kept tight hold of his arm.

“You’re trying to kill me,” she accused.

He said nothing, but she saw his lips quirk in a thin smile. Beyond the ledge was another ravine, only the sides of this valley were soft, easily navigable slopes and the valley itself was tiny. The valley was the shape of a bowl; cupped within it was a pool from which the stream flowed and, around that, small, scrubby plants.

Aubrey laughed in delight. A day of hiking through the harsh, lifeless mountains had left her aching for Lórien’s greenery. This small collection of shrubs was nothing to the mallorn she had come to love, but it was _something._

Haldir jogged down the slope into the bottom of the tiny valley and made his way to the pool. He cupped the water to his face and washed briefly, then knelt at the edge of the pool where the stream flowed away.

“What are you doing?” Aubrey demanded, standing at the edge of the water.

He looked up briefly. “Look,” he said, pointing to the weeds floating in the water. “This is watercress; we can eat this.”

When she stepped closer, she saw that the plants were not dead and floating, but growing in the stream bed. “Huh,” she murmured, watching as he took his knife and cut several of the plants loose. He tucked his find into the pouch at his belt and stood, wiping his hands on the edge of his tunic.

“Have you gathered food before?” He asked.

“No,” she admitted. “We buy everything, in my world. I guess people do gather their own food, but I’m not very good with plants.”

“I will show you,” he said simply. She frowned; there was none of the usual judgement in is tone, none of the dismissal she had grown accustomed to. Instead, his eyes shone with a genuine wish to teach her. This moment felt pivotal to Aubrey, as if she stood before a set of scales and her reaction could tip the balance forever. Could she be his friend? After everything, after the way he had blamed her for Celedan’s death, the weeks of constantly belittling her purely because she was human. _But he still taught me. He still looked out for me, and now he’s travelling to Imladris for my sake._

“Okay,” she said finally. “Lead on.”

o0o

When they finally returned to camp, full night had fallen. Darkness pressed around her, complete and oppressive, as repulsive as the dead hare she held in one hand. Haldir had shot it as it ran across their path, a clean shot through the eye that nonetheless left it leaking blood and _fluid_ all over her hands. Every time she thought about what the _fluid_ might be, her gorge rose and she fought the urge to drop the dead animal.

Her other hand was on Haldir’s back, guiding her through the thick darkness. Ahead, she could see the shifting orange light of the fire, but the path between her and it might as well have been invisible.

“There is a dip in the path,” Haldir warned her, startling her with the noise in the quiet night.

She felt the path curve away beneath her toes and slowed to navigate the dip. The wind picked up, and the hare’s downy fur ruffled against her thumb. She shuddered, holding its horribly malleable body further away.

They made it back to the camp with no further incident. The large rocks sheltered the path on either side where they’d chosen to stop. The rocks would have felt imposing in daylight, but at night they reflected the light of the fire back, creating an almost cosy space. Sirdal, Celeroch and Fingo leaned against the wall opposite the fire, shifting their hobbled hooves every now and then.

The rocks protected them small campsite from the wind, but it was still cool enough that Aubrey’s fingers felt numb. She handed the hare to Orophin and went to sit beside the fire, holding her hands out to warm them.

Haldir and Orophin butchered the hare, tossing its foul smelling guts and the remnants of its fur over the side of the mountain. Aubrey was reminded of the rabbit she had eaten on one of her first nights in Lórien, back on that first trek. She smiled softly, leaning her cheek against her knees. _How far I have come._ Evan would be proud of her, she thought. Of her new strength and resilience and of the way she’d yet to give up.

The hare was eaten in silence; Aubrey savoured the hot, fatty strips of meat between mouthfuls of sharp watercress. She felt quite bad about the hare, especially after carrying the poor things all the way from where they’d killed it—but Haldir’s clean shot had ended its life quickly, a far better death than being snatched by one of the looming birds of prey she’d seen at intervals throughout the day.

When they had finished their meal, Haldir turned to her. “We cannot all sleep while we are in the mountains; we must set a watch. Are you capable of standing a watch? You must stay alert for two hours, alone. If you cannot, Orophin and I shall share the watch and you may sleep.”

Once more, she had the slightly odd realisation that there was only curiosity and frank honesty in his tone. _I want to help._ “I can do it,” she said. “Only—I don’t know that I’d be able to see anything coming.”

“Your eyes will quickly adjust to the low light when the moon comes out,” he said. “And you are more likely to hear danger coming. If you are sure, you may take the first watch.”

“I can do it,” she repeated.

He directed her to sit at the edge of the campsite, with her back to the fire so as not to dazzle her eyes. Orophin was setting out his sleeping roll on the other side of the camp when Haldir crouched beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder, so light that it was barely there. “Wake me if there is any trouble—if you hear anything at all. After two hours, wake Orophin for his watch. Yes?”

She nodded. “How will I know when it’s been two hours?”

He pointed to the moon, which had just emerged from behind a mountain. “When the moon is in the middle of those two peaks, your watch will be over.”

She drew her cloak tighter around her and nodded bracingly. “Okay. I’ll—see you in the morning.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with Haldir’s present attitude. She could deal with his contempt easily enough, even his hatred had been easier to navigate than this tentative friendship he seemed to have begun. She felt as if she were balanced on a narrow beam, just waiting to fall off. 

Haldir stood, and just before he moved away, she felt a warm weight settle around her shoulders—his cloak. She smiled and ducked her chin, pressing her face against the warm fabric. Unlike her own simple cloak, the material of Haldir’s was the odd, green-grey weave that seemed to render the wearer unnoticeable whenever they wanted. It was warmer than her own, and carried the earthy, clean scent of Lórien.

It was not long before she heard the two elves quiet for the night, settling into their unnerving open-eyed slumber. The noises of the night were amplified by the dark, it seemed. She could hear the stream they’d crossed earlier thundering down into the valley, and the thin, eerie sigh of the wind against the mountain sides. She fancied that she could hear wolves howling at one point, but turning her head proved it to be nothing but the sound of the wind in her ears. Throughout her watch, the scent of Lórien from Haldir’s cloak surrounded her. She woke Orophin when the moon had reached the midpoint between the two points Haldir had pointed out, and fell asleep within minutes.


	18. Chapter 18

The third day in the mountains was the worst. Thick, gunmetal clouds descended on the peaks, shrouding the path in impenetrable mist. The wind howled through the mountain tops, throwing cold rain into their faces. Though the path had widened and flattened enough to ride, the bitter rain bothered the horses so much that they were forced to dismount and lead them, bending double against the icy sting of the rain.

Aubrey curled her cloak tight around her, thinking regretfully back to how warm Haldir’s had been. She’d reluctantly returned it with a faint blush, but longed for its snug warmth every night. In this rapidly worsening storm, she longed for it more than ever; her own cloak was sodden and the drenched wool was heavy around her shoulders. She pressed on, groaning loudly when the path began to turn up and around, putting her directly into the path of the storm. Fingo’s large body sheltered her somewhat from the rain but even with her head ducked against his dark bay shoulder, rain still soaked through her hood until her hair was dripping.

When it rained on the Pennines, Aubrey always had the feeling that she was an intruder upon a natural event. The clouds met the mountains and released their load and the hills accepted the downpour. It was as it should be, and neither force gave any contemplation to who might be caught in the cold, wet crossfire. The Pennines were too old, too vast to _care_. These mountains, though, greater and more magnificent as they were—Aubrey felt as if they were conscious of her upon them, and she had the distinct impression that she was unwelcome. The rain felt like a deliberate assault upon them, the mountains trying to cast them off.

Perhaps personifying mountains wandered into the realm of the delirious, but there was something about the sharp, shattered angles of the slopes and the unforgiving precipices that felt firmly malevolent, in just the same way that Lórien felt welcoming.  

She shook her head to clear the unsettling thoughts there and pressed on, grimacing as cold rain skated down her neck, dampening her clothes and chilling her to the bone. Her fingers were like blocks and when she moved them, it felt as if there were shards of glass embedded in the joints, grinding together and managing to combine numbness with agony.

Fingo didn’t like the weather any better than she did; he tugged anxiously at his lead rope and tossed his head, trying to turn his back to the downpour. She heard the tell-tale rattle of scree bouncing down the mountainside just inches from Fingo’s anxious hooves and tugged him over quickly. “We’re going to go off the side of the mountain!” She cried, pulling sharply at the horse’s reins. The wind stole her voice and tossed it away, beyond even the elves’ hearing.

“Haldir,” she tried again, pushing herself forwards. She thought that he had missed her again, but suddenly he was there, emerging out of the mist like a wraith. Celeroch’s reins were clutched tight in his hand and the normally unfazed horse was pulling nervously.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice raised over the storm.

Aubrey saw Orophin come up beside her, Sirdal trudging behind him. “Can’t we stop?” She shouted. “The horses will never make it!”

“Yes they will,” Orophin said firmly. “They are strong, and they have done this before.”

“We can barely see three feet in front of us,” Aubrey protested. The grey mist around them had thickened, but paled to a ghostly off-white. Fear rose within her when she felt the familiar icy kiss of snow on her wind-chapped cheeks. “I go walking in the mountains back home, I know what I’m doing,” she said. “We have to find shelter, especially now it’s started to snow.”

Haldir shook his head. “You do not know _these_ mountains,” he said. “We _must_ reach the top of the pass before this snow sets in, else the mountains shall be impassable for months.”

Aubrey bit her lip. She wanted to insist that they head back, that it was simply too dangerous to go on. And yet—Haldir had never led her wrong. The last three days had been odd; he’d maintained a careful distance between them after lending her his cloak for her first watch, but had never been rude to her, or dismissive of her efforts. She felt rather wrong-footed. But she trusted him, fundamentally. This was his world, and he knew it well. “Okay,” she said finally. She pulled her sodden hood further forward and trudged on into the thickening snow.

o0o

Haldir could not help but admire the way she kept going, her head bowed and shoulders hunched against the storm. She had a habit of stamping her feet whenever she went uphill, an idiosyncrasy that he found terribly endearing. He didn’t particularly want to find anything about the girl endearing, certainly not the way that she _walked­—_ but she had a way of confusing him, it turned out. Just _looking_ at her filled him with confusion.

Guilt gnawed at him over his thoughtless, hurt words following Celedan’s death, and a growing need to repent filled him—one of the reasons he’d agreed to escort her on this forsaken trip. But it was not until their second day of travelling when she had mounted her horse without complaint despite the agony he knew she must be feeling, that he realised he was _proud_ of her; that he admired her sheer _tenacity._

He didn’t know how he could have missed it before. Had she not turned out to every one of his lessons and done as he commanded, no matter how gruelling? From the very start, when she walked those four painful days on bloody feet, she had shown him her mettle. She was proud, yes—perhaps too much so, but no more than he.

This sudden respect for a mortal did not sit well with Haldir. He knew their kind, and he had no love for them. He had fought amongst men, and seen their courage and loyalty, yes. But he had also seen how they would tear up ancient forest and moorland, loose raging fire across prairies for their own short-lived plans, leave behind ruin when they went to their graves. He had seen them abandon their comrades to save their own skins. He had seen them piss themselves as they died. He had seen how the rage of battle made their cocks stiff with lust, seen them fall upon shrieking, sobbing women without thought while their blood was up.

His lip curled just thinking of it and his free hand formed a fist. There was no word for _rape_ in Sindarin. An elf’s fëa was so closely entwined to their physical body that to mar one was the mar the other; this was an act no elf could commit. It had taken him centuries to understand how mortal men could seek their pleasure in another’s pain; eventually he had been forced to accept that they were simply different to his people.

He regretted assuming the same of Aubrey. Human she was, but she seemed different to them, somehow. Perhaps it was the strange world she came from, or the months she had lived with them in Lórien, but she seemed so much _more_ than the other mortals he had met.

He glanced over his shoulder and squinted through the driving snow. Though she was less than twenty paces behind him, he could only just make out her sleet-blurred form. She was bent almost double against the storm, and pressed herself against Fingo, whether for the reassuring steadiness of the horse’s presence or simply to keep herself upright in the wind, he did not know.

Haldir grimaced; a growing part of him disliked seeing her struggling against the storm. Her obvious discomfort needled him and he began to search more thoroughly for shelter. If he remembered correctly—and he was sure that he did—there was a large cave only a few hundred metres further.

Sure enough, when he rounded the next bend in the path, he saw the familiar pillar of rock that marked the cave’s entrance. He strode forwards, battling the gale, and pressed his hand against the rock behind the pillar. He mumbled the required words—a benediction in his own tongue—and there it was. It was an ancient, peculiar magic that shielded the cave; one could only find it if they knew where it was, and until the password was uttered the entrance would remain shrouded.

The entrance to the cave was deceptively small, barely large enough for Celeroch to fit through, but the horse had traversed this path before and stepped eagerly into the shelter. Aubrey stepped up to his elbow just as Celeroch disappeared into the cave, Orophin close behind her.

“What is this?” She asked him, her voice raised to be heard over the storm.

“It is a cave. We can shelter here for the night,” he explained, gesturing for her to enter.

Joyful at the prospect of getting out of the torrential storm she gave none of her usual hesitance, merely ducked straight past him into the dark cave.

o0o

Rúmil scratched at his ear, bewildered. He knew that Lórien’s principle archivist during the second age had Sailed at the turn of the ages, and he was beginning to suspect that it was because the damn ellon knew anyone reading his archives would quickly develop the urge to shove him from the highest tree in the realm.

The ellon had been overly given to metaphor and illusion within his writings—a fine thing in a work of poetic merit, but less than helpful when Rúmil was trying to track down mysterious visitors to the city.

He was currently reading about one woman who had appeared late in the second age, but such was the archivist’s writing style that he wasn’t sure whether the ellon referred to an actual woman, the night sky, or spring.

He shut the book with a frustrated huff and slumped back in his chair, a deep scowl on his face. He hated to look stupid; particularly, he was finding, in front of pretty Ilye. Across from him, Ilye smothered a laugh with a careful cough. He looked up, one brow quirked, unable to stop a smile tugging at his lips. “Is something wrong, sweet Ilye?”

“Not at all,” she replied easily. “Only you seemed to be enjoying Ivernin’s writings so much you did not hear me offer you a drink.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Forgive me. I would appreciate a drink very much, thank you.”

Ilye gestured to where an untouched glass of water sat to his right, only a whisker from where he had slammed down Ivernin’s archive. He took the water quickly, the delicate tips of his ears colouring slightly.

“You’re welcome,” Ilye grinned.

o0o

Aubrey sighed happily, rolling her shoulders back. Outside, the storm still raged on, showing no signs of stopping, but within the cave it did not seem to matter. She suspected there was some kind of magical protection on the cavern, but even if she was wrong it was still ideally set out to provide shelter and comparative warmth.

The narrow entrance turned around a corner so sharp that the horses struggled to navigate it, before opening out into a large cave. It was just a touch larger than her talan in Lórien though not quite so tall, requiring Haldir and Orophin to stoop slightly towards the back wall.

Though of course it had been dark when she had first entered, the elves had quickly struck up a large fire in a pre-dug pit that cast merry shadows and a cheerful glow through the cavern. They had spread out their cloaks around the fire to dry out and they were now steaming gently. The cave had warmed surprisingly quickly and now smelled of damp horse, but it was far better than the wild mountains outside.

Aubrey had offered to see to the horses whilst Haldir and Orophin sorted their gear into piles of wet and dry. She led the three steeds over to the tallest part of the cave where she was shocked and delighted to find a neat bale of straw and a barrel of oats. “Look at this!” She called excitedly, seeing that there was a small niche cut into the cave wall stuffed with foods and equipment for both horses and humans—or elves. “There’s food, and blankets, and all sorts of things.” She frowned thoughtfully. “We didn’t just happen on this place, did we?”

“No, we did not. This is a waystation, carved out by elves at the halfway point of the mountain path.” Orophin told her, looking up from where he was laying out arrows to dry. “It is kept stocked with supplies by us and our kin in Imladris.”

Aubrey’s face split into a smile. In some ways, this world—Arda, they called it—felt like a film, or a video game. As if there was only so much set out for her to explore, but if she went too far, she’d be stopped, or wander into white space. And yet always there was more! The cave waystation was _real_ , it had _purpose_ , and that delighted her.

She turned back to the horses and hummed softly to them as she untacked them, setting the saddles, bridles and saddlecloths down on the floor so they would begin to dry. She then took handfuls of the wonderfully present straw and rubbed down their sodden limbs, halting to scratch them in all of the places that they loved best.

Celeroch rumbled softly when she scratched him beneath his chin and she laughed, pressing a kiss to his velvety muzzle. He was such a calm creature, and so willing in his work, that she could not help but love him. Sirdal too was wonderful. Livelier than Haldir’s horse, the chestnut enjoyed speed and constantly tried Orophin in his want for a gallop. Neither horse could quite compare to her own recalcitrant Fingo, though, with all of his stubborn quirks.

She filled three pails with sweet oats and left the horses to their meal, now dry and as clean as she could hope to get them. She joined her companions beside the fire and sat beside her slowly drying cloak. She ran a hand over her plait and grimaced; the wind and rain had done nothing for her already tangled locks and though they had almost all worked out of her braid, they stayed snarled together.

She pulled the thin tie from her hair—an elastic tie that had travelled with her to this world, a link to home that she was stupidly, sentimentally fond of—and began the slow process of untangling her hair. For the hundredth time on the journey, she cursed herself for forgetting a brush or comb of any kind. She was beginning to think that she would have to simply cut all of her hair off when they finally reached Imladris.

“Have you no comb?” Haldir asked her from his position across the fire.

She gritted her teeth against a particularly stubborn knot. “—No.”

He raised a brow and dug in his pack for a moment, retrieving a cloth. He walked over to her and knelt at her side, unrolling the cloth on the ground. Within it were a stiff wooden comb, a brush with stiffened hog bristles and several small ties and clips.

“Allow me,” he said tersely, with no more inflection in his voice than if he were adjusting her hold on her bow.

Slowly, her hands came away from her hair and she nodded, swallowing. His hands—long and slender, the fingers elegant but strong, and oh _God_ she was remembering walking in on him with that elf woman all those weeks ago—went to her hair and he began to deftly comb apart the strands. He was gentle and careful but the state of her hair was bad enough that she still ended up wincing frequently. He came to a large knot behind her right ear and gave her a stony stare. “This is disgraceful,” he said. “How could you let your hair get this way?”

“All right, Rapunzel,” she snapped. “We can’t all have silky, weather-proof locks.”

His brows quirked. “Rapunzel?”

“It’s a fairy tale, from my world,” she told him.

She saw Orophin shift out of the corner of her eye, his interest piqued. “What is a fairy tale?” The younger elf asked.

“A children’s story,” she said. “They sometimes have morals.”

“Tell us this story,” Haldir said. He did not say please, but she felt that it was somehow implied, so she did anyway.

“I’m not sure how well I remember the details,” she warned them. “But . . . Once upon a time, there was a man and his wife, and they desperately wanted a child. But the woman was sick, and dying. So the man, who had heard about a witch who grew magical plants, went to the witch’s garden and stole a lettuce. He gave the lettuce to his wife and she grew strong, but the witch found them. In payment for the man’s crime, the witch said that she would take the couple’s first born child. And sure enough, it was not long until the woman gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with long, golden hair. They named her Rapunzel . . .”

She told the fairy tale as Haldir combed her hair, and as she spoke she remembered more and more of the story, doubling back on herself to add details. Orophin and Haldir listened, enraptured, butting in to ask questions whenever they could not keep them back— _why did she not use her hair to climb down the tower? What exactly is a witch?_

She answered them patiently, reminding herself of how she had been full of questions when Evan told her fairy stories as a child. When at last the story came to an end, she realised that Haldir had long since finished combing out her hair and had even plaited sections of it in a similar fashion to how he and Rúmil wore their hair. His hand, though, remained on her shoulder, a lock of her hair twisted around his forefinger.

He seemed to realise what he was doing just as she did, and snatched his hand away as if the strands of her hair burned him. Aubrey looked away, an odd feeling in her gut. “Thanks,” she said simply.

He nodded silently and gathered his things, wrapping them meticulously and replacing them in his pack. “That is an odd story,” he said quietly, returning to the fire and sitting beside his brother. “But I liked it.”

“Yes, it was very good. Are there many stories like that in your world?” Orophin queried.

“Oh, yes. Hundreds. There are myths from every culture in the world as well.”

“Will you tell us another?” Orophin asked her, smiling beguilingly.

Aubrey smiled. Outside, the storm finally appeared to have lulled just as heavy darkness settled over the mountains in its place. “Of course. After today, I’ll tell you one about a storm . . .”


	19. Chapter 19

Aubrey rolled her shoulders back and stretched her legs out in the stirrups. The descent from the Misty Mountains had been nowhere near as dramatic as the ascent and they’d been able to ride down in a little over a day, but it had nonetheless left her sore and achy.

Nineteen days had passed since they left Lórien. Nineteen days of riding or walking all day with little rest, a near-constant ache in her muscles that had come to feel as familiar as the caress of her own hair against her neck. Nineteen days of her skin prickling with dirt and sweat, never quite managing to wash it away in the small pools and streams they passed. All told, she was ecstatic when Haldir announced that they would reach Imladris by the end of the day.

Sure enough, the sun had just kissed the far away, gently sloping horizon when they crested the hill they had been climbing and looked down into the valley of Imladris. Aubrey sagged in the saddle, overcome by intense relief to simply be near civilisation once more—and, she realised, to be approaching an elven city again. She hadn’t realised how much she saw Lórien as home until she had left it behind.

“It’s . . .” she murmured, then broke off, unable to find the words for the realm before them. It was nestled against a hill side, but somehow the rock seemed almost to grow around the city, as if the magic of the elves had bent the mountains to their will. A waterfall thundered down through the centre of the city, spilling out into the wide, raging channel of a river.

“That is the Bruinen,” Orophin told her with a smile. She frowned, recalling him pointing out the source of the Bruinen two days past—a tiny spring that trickled from the mountains, barely enough to sustain a slender stream.

She stared at the river as Haldir led them along its eastern bank, picking their way slowly up the valley. The river earned its English name, she thought— _Loud Water._ The water itself roared down the valley, making such a tremendous racket that she couldn’t hear Fingo’s footsteps against the stony riverbank. Occasionally, there would be a deep, ringing boom from the river as the great boulders it carried along crashed into each other under the raging water.

Just before they reached a set of low, stepped falls Haldir turned Celeroch up a gently sloping path that wound up the valley side to Imladris. The back of Aubrey’s neck prickled; there were no sentry posts or guarded gates, but she had the unmistakeable feeling that she was being watched.

They rode up through a dense forest. The trees that clung to the steep valley sides were small, but they grew close together and were in some places almost obscured by thick undergrowth. Spray from the waterfalls made the whole forest permanently damp; water dripped from overhanging trees onto their heads and in some places pooled on the rough path. In one place, high up the valley side, a small stream crossed the path. The track on either side was reduced to gluey, thick mud. Aubrey had to stifle a laugh at the way each horse responded to the mud: Celeroch, so like his master, paced through the muck with a certain dignified aplomb. Sirdal cast one look at the filthy mire and leaped delicately over, jostling Orophin about with the sudden movement. Fingo—her beloved Fingo, who she had come to love fiercely over their journey—paused at the edge of the puddle and set his shoulders in his familiar _do-I-have-to_ stance. It was only with some coaxing that he trudged forwards, and then seemed to take great satisfaction in stamping his hooves enough to splatter Aubrey with thick, black mud.

The mud was just beginning to dry on her hands and thighs when they exited the forest and Imladris was laid out before them. Her mouth fell open and the reins fell slack in her hands.

The path levelled out into wide, polished paving stones and lead over a slender bridge that crossed the tumbling Bruinen. Over the bridge, two gigantic statues stood sentinel on either side of the path, carved swords in their hands and stern sets to their brows. They guarded a round courtyard and a set of marble steps that led up to a house—a palace, really, since the whole of Imladris seemed to be one enormous, extended building. Unlike the wooden telain in Lórien, Imladris was carved out of stone; marble and sandstone and probably a hundred other blocks of fine masonry she could never have named.

Haldir and Orophin seemed to relax, finally, letting go of some of the intense focus they had maintained throughout their trip through the Misty Mountains. Haldir urged his Celeroch forwards across the bridge, one hand hanging relaxed at his side. Aubrey had just urged Fingo across the bridge after him when the door of the great mansion opened, and an elf emerged.

He was tall and regal, as all elves were, but she could not help immediately drawing comparisons between this man and the elves of Lórien. Most strikingly—the hair that fell down his back in gentle waves was as black as ink. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he was tall—perhaps even taller than Haldir, though his shoulders were not so broad. Unlike the tunic and breeches that seemed to be favoured in Lórien, this elf wore a long, heavy robe that swept the floor. An elegant silver circlet rested upon his brow, and Aubrey frowned, wondering if he was some kind of royalty.

Haldir gave a broad smile and leaped from Celeroch’s back. He strode forwards and met the strange elf, who also beamed. They clasped forearms and spoke in Sindarin. Aubrey knew the words, but tired as she was from the seemingly endless journey, could not quite chase down their meanings.

The elf turned to Aubrey and gave her a warm smile. “Welcome to Imladris,” he greeted her in clear, unaccented English. “I am Elrond, and this is my home.”

“Thank you,” she returned. “I am Aubrey.”

She tilted her head to one side, taking in the elf’s features. He was as handsome as any elf, with a high, noble brow, but there was something slightly different about him. He seemed somehow _old_ —certainly not physically, his features were that of a man in his late twenties at most, but he exuded an aura of age and wisdom that reminded her of Celeborn and Galadriel.

Aubrey wanted to ask him about it, but in her tired state felt that she was likely to simply blurt out ‘ _How old are you?’_ which seemed a touch rude. She opted instead to dismount, wobbling slightly when she landed. Orophin steadied her wordlessly before going forward to offer his own greeting to Elrond.

The elf lord clasped Orophin’s hand and they exchanged that same greeting, before he turned to their group at large. “You must be very weary from your travels,” he said—rather diplomatically, Aubrey thought, as Rúmil and Haldir were very clearly not—and gestured to the steps he had descended. “Your horses will be attended to. Please follow me, we have set up accommodations for you all, for as long as you wish to stay here.”

o0o

Haldir was relieved to finally reach Imladris. The Misty Mountains were never a nice area to traverse, especially when they had the girl slowing them down—something which he was surprised to find he did not begrudge her. She followed sedately behind Orophin and him as Elrond led them through the broad, airy corridors of his home.

Autumn was beginning to take a firm hold of Arda, but in its sheltered valley Imladris was as mild and pleasant as ever. Gentle, warm breezes swept through the open corridors, stirring and twisting the long, elegant drapes. A thin curtain blew up and brushed against Aubrey’s hand and she startled, having fallen into an exhausted trance.

“ _I should like to speak with you, mellon nin, but I suspect that my mortal companion will require rest and refreshment first.”_ He murmured to Elrond. He spoke in Sylvan, the dialect of Sindarin that he had grown up speaking. It did not differ wildly from Sindarin, but enough that in her tired state Aubrey would not be able to translate enough to accuse him of patronising her.

Elrond nodded, quirking a brow at the obscure language choice. “ _Not at all,”_ he replied. He went on delicately, “ _Would you like to stay with her?”_

Haldir flushed to the roots of his hair. “ _I would not, thank you,”_ he said curtly. Damn him, he could have sworn that Elrond was smiling.

They went on in silence, their booted feet ringing out on the polished stone walkways. It was not much longer before they turned off the corridor into the more sheltered rooms of the house. Elrond led them to a closed door and paused outside of it. “I believe that you will find this room comfortable, Aubrey,” he told her kindly. “Clothes have been set out for you, and a bath drawn. Feel free to retire for the night, or—if you are not so fatigued, my study is further along this corridor and to the left. You may find me there and I will take you to see Eruanna.”

She nodded and gave a weary smile. “Thank you very much,” she said. She turned to Haldir and Orophin, an awkward angle setting around her mouth. “I’ll—see you in the morning,” she murmured and hurried into the room.

Orophin looked as if he wished to say something in return but the door was already shut fast behind the young mortal. Elrond gave them a measured look and said mildly, “What an interesting friendship the three of you share.”

o0o

Aubrey sank down into the steaming bath water, letting out a low moan in appreciation. She could feel the hot water working miracles on her stiff muscles. There was some kind of scented oil in the water; she could not have named it, but it made her skin feel like silk and had a delicate, floral scent that was somewhat like a rose, only not as sweet.

She spread her fingers out on the surface of the water and let her legs float up to the surface. She admired the lean, taught muscles of her legs. They were even more defined than when they had left Lórien; her constant training and exercise had earnt her the kind of body that could only be achieved through real, sustained work or airbrushing.

She tipped her head back to rest on the lip of the tub and gazed up at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure whether it was painted white, or built of pale stone. Imladris reminded her of Greek and Roman cities, all carefully planned and beautifully carved architecture. It would be one hell of a tourist destination in her world.

_Her world._

She let herself slide down in the water until it was over her head. She remembered playing a game with Evan, when they were still small enough to share a bath; they would put their heads beneath the water and see who could go the longest before they had to breathe. Evan had always one, whether by virtue of lung capacity or nerve, she didn’t know.

Here, she felt simultaneously as if she could hold her breath forever and as if she was already bursting at the seams. She could hear the wet, double thud of her heart beating. Her chest was tight with want for air and her skin tingled in response to the heat of the water. She surged back up, levering herself out of the bath and sitting on the side, grasping a fluffy towel from the wooden cabinet beside the bath.

She shrugged it around her shoulders and stared down at where steam curled around her legs. Rivulets of water ran down her calves, catching on the soft down of pale hairs. She wrinkled her nose; she’d got used to having no razor over her time here, but she missed her perfectly smooth skin.

She wandered slowly into her bed chamber, clothed in nothing but her towel, revelling in the feeling of finally being clean. The room was of a simple set up, containing a bed and a chest of drawers, which was easily ample for her needs. _Anything_ was an improvement on the mountains.

She selected a nightgown from the drawers and pulled it on, frowning slightly. It had clearly been made for an elven woman, and thus the sleeves trailed and the material was stretched tight over her bust and hips.

As she sat upon her bed, combing out her newly washed hair, she thought about what her conversation with Eruanna would bring. With the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning, she yearned to find some answers simply so that she would be out of this dark ignorance.

She felt once again that feeling of sick trepidation that had filled her when she had attempted to look into Galadriel’s mirror, that sense that she was about to learn something pivotal, something huge, something that would change everything she thought she knew. If she was honest with herself—the kind of honesty that could only be achieved in the quiet, late night privacy of a bed chamber—she was terrified of what Eruanna would reveal, of what she would learn.

And most of all, she admitted to herself, turning her face away to stare out of her window and the moon, hanging in the dark sky high above the valley, she feared that Eruanna would know a way for her to return. Once she knew how to return, she would no longer have the screen of finding out to hide behind. She would _have_ to return. She dropped the brush onto the bed and clenched her fists in the bedding, assuring herself of the concrete reality of this world.

Their arrival at Imladris had brought about a startling, uncomfortable realisation—somewhere, amongst months of training hard and making friendships, falling out and becoming friends once more—Lórien and the elves who lived there had crept into her heart. _How can I return home, when home lies in this world?_


	20. Chapter 20

The sun seemed to struggle to dawn over the sheltered valley of Imladris the next morning, as if it too dreaded learning the truth. Aubrey buried her head under the thick quilts when she woke, desperate to speak to Eruanna and desperate to leap back upon Fingo and race away, blissful in her ignorance. The choice was taken from her when her door was thrown open, spilling a pool of pale dawn light into the room from the corridor.

He groaned and thumped her head back against the pillow. “Do you not knock in Imladris?”

“I am sure in Imladris they do, but surely we have moves past such niceties?” the intruder asked drolly. _Haldir._

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. “I think I’ve changed my mind,” she mumbled. “There’s no reason to bother Eruanna, is there? Let’s go home.” _Home._ The word stuck on her lips, thick with meaning.

“I will throw you into the Bruinen if you make a wasted trip of this,” he said severely. “Eruanna is waiting for you in the gardens, I will escort you as soon as you are ready.”

Feeling like a moaning child protesting school, Aubrey slid from the high bed and curled her toes on the cool stone floor. She missed the slightly rough, warmer floor of her talan. “I’ll be two minutes,” she murmured, crossing to the tall wardrobe. Her feet left faint, muggy footprints on the highly polished floor.

The wardrobe held dozens of outfits, from long dresses to sets of tunics and pants. She tilted her head to one side, considering. Though she’d never been an overt fan of dresses, the long weeks travelling had left her disdainful of the tight breeches. She slipped into a dress the colour of snow against a window pane and slid her feet into a pair of matching slippers which were a touch too long for her.

She found Haldir waiting for her outside her room, his shoulders resting lazily against the wall. The posture emphasised his lean strength and she frowned, dismissing the sudden and alarming stirring of attraction she felt. Oblivious—or appearing to be—he stood straight. “Come,” he said, turning before she could reply.

As they walked, she gazed around her, taking in the unfamiliar sights of Imladris. She was struck once more by the gorgeously carved paths and archways, white stone shaped into fluted, twisted shapes. They walked along a wide, open pathway lined with small, shivering birches. A gentle breeze flipped the leaves up, exposing their silvery undersides.

“Are there no mallorn here?” She asked, running her hand along the soft, quivering leaves. She missed the gigantic trees with their silver bark and great broad leaves; they gave off a feeling of such security and safety that their very presence became synonymous with comfort.

Haldir inclined his head. “The mallorn grows only in Lórien,” he said. “And of course, in Valinor.”

She frowned, having not heard of this Valinor. Just as she made to ask him about it, he turned down a narrow stair that had been hidden until that point by the birches. It was as if each stair took her one step further into another world. Out of the shadow of the birches the rising sun was fiercely bright in her eyes, and unseasonably warm. Far more notable, though, was the sudden swell of music.

In her months in Lórien, Aubrey had grown used to elves singing—they loved music fiercely and could not seem to go more than a few hours without breaking into song. This voice, though, was different. The notes rose higher than the mountains, at once as clear as bubbling water and as rich as the brush of Aubrey’s silk dress against her legs. Aubrey thought that she might weep with the beauty of it, because it was the sweetest thing that she had ever heard and surely nothing could ever sound better—and would it not be a lesser pain to fall deaf now, than to live a life without this music? This, clearly, was addiction—the sudden feeling that something she had gone her whole life without knowing was now as precious to her, as necessary as her next breath.

She could not understand the song, for the words were neither English nor Sindarin, but she did not need to—just like that damnable dance, the music communicated with her on a level far deeper and more profound than simple knowledge. What was knowledge compared to this?

She felt a hand on her arm, hot against her skin, and jerked back into herself. Haldir’s fingers brushed against her elbows and his face was turned down to her, a shadow of something like concern in his eyes.

“Are you well?” He asked, scanning her face. “You seemed to—leave.”

“I did,” she admitted. “That—that singing . . .” she murmured.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Of course—Eruanna is known throughout Arda for her voice. She sounds like Varda among us, does she not?”

Aubrey shook her head softly, amazed. She knew of Varda, Ilye had told her the stories of the Ainur once; but even the star-kindler could not sound quite like this.

The singing grew steadily louder as they made their way through a large garden. The heady scent of decaying flowers filled the air and bees darted to and fro amongst the wilting beds, getting their fill before the rapidly encroaching autumn. Haldir led them all the way to the edge of the garden until they came across a small grove of trees set in a ring around a circle of low stone benches.

Aubrey realised that she was holding her breath, but could not quite bring herself to release it. Sat upon the nearest bench was a woman—and elleth—with her back to them. It was she who sang, her head tipped back in careless joy. Rivers of ink-black hair spilled down her slender back to pool on the bench. Beside her sat an elf man, his hair as fair as hers was dark. He reached to gather sections of her dark tresses in his hands as she sang and spun them into small plaits.

As they walked into the glade, he leaned across and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder where she had moved aside her hair. Her song broke off into a clarion laugh that was almost as beautiful as her singing and she stood, turning to greet Haldir and Aubrey.

“Good morning,” she smiled. Her eyes were blue grey, an arresting contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. Aubrey was reminded of Snow White, but this woman was surely more beautiful than any creation of her own dull world.

Aubrey was already feeling fairly _mortal_ looking at the elleth, the woman’s song still ringing in her ears, when the ellon stood and faced them. She gasped and backed away, her eyes widening with shock and quickly squinting shut. Looking at this elf was like looking into the sun. His golden hair, unusually curly for an elf’s, spilled about his face and down his back; his skin seemed to glisten as if the faint, imperceptible radiance of all elves had been turned up to the maximum. Aubrey remembered Haldir’s comment about Eruanna having the voice of Varda—well, if that were true, then this man had the face of Manwë, or even Eru himself.

She felt for Haldir’s reassuring presence behind her and reached out, grasping his arm. The elleth smiled softly, seeming to sense the near panic Aubrey felt. “Please,” she said. “Sit with us. I am Eruanna, and this is my husband, Glorfindel.”

Dazed, Aubrey wobbled over to a bench and sat down, maintaining her death grip on Haldir’s arm. He cast her an exasperated look but did not pull away.

“How are you, Eruanna? Glorfindel?” He asked, nodding at each elf in turn.

The golden elf smiled broadly at him. Aubrey’s heart stuttered. “Very well, my thanks to you. And what of you? How fairs Lórien?”

“Well enough,” Haldir said, his voice a little stiffer. “We must talk later. But first—what we have travelled all of this way for.”

He gave her a pointed look and when she still did not speak, elbowed her in the side. Snapping herself free of her dumb-struck gawping, Aubrey focused on Eruanna. “I—yes. We learnt that—that is I was doing research—and what I mean is that . . . how did you get here?”

She flushed a deep vermillion, but Eruanna merely laughed, the gorgeous sound sending a shiver across Aubrey’s skin. “Perhaps we could take this from the start? This will take a while—” the broke off and turned to Glorfindel, the golden day to her inky night. “Melethril, perhaps you and Haldir may talk now. I should like to hear dear Aubrey’s story in detail and I am sure it would bore the Marchwarden to hear of a tale he knows well.”

Glorfindel nodded, bending to kiss her softly. “I shall see you later, Meleth,” he said softly before stepping out of the circle, waiting patiently for Haldir.

Haldir squeezed her arm gently in a gesture of rare solidarity and stood, joining the golden haired elf. “I will be in the main house,” he told her.

And then the two ellyn were gone, and she could breathe again. She grimaced under Eruanna’s concerned, slightly amused look. “Does he have this effect on everyone, your husband?” She asked tightly.

Eruanna’s eyes softened. “He cannot help it. He spent a long time with the Valar, their light shines through him. Now—please tell me your story, I am anxious to hear it. Ilye would tell me nothing.”

Aubrey was silent for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. “I suppose the very beginning was when I woke up in a field, in my pyjamas . . .” she began.

She found that she could hold nothing back from the kind, open elleth. She related every single thing to the smallest detail that she could remember, from the stinging chill of the wet grass she had first woken in to the long, aching hours training, the endless hours searching through books in a library written in a language she only half spoke. She told Eruanna about Evan, shocked even as she spoke because Evan was her greatest secret and her life’s work, yet here she spilled his story to a virtual stranger. She told the story of their trek over the Misty Mountains, recalled the strange feelings of learning more and more about a land that still felt foreign and fictional sometimes. And lastly, her eyes fixed on the mottled patches of moss and clover on the ground, she whispered her confession—that _home_ had become a blurred mess of confusion that existed somewhere between a lifelong duty she had not asked for but was bound by love to complete, and the freedom of this bizarre world.

When she finally stopped talking, the shifting sun had turned the shadows in the grove around and her sides were heaving as if she had run for miles.

She looked up, waiting for condemnation or, perhaps even worse, approval. Eruanna’s eyes shone with tears. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, crossing to sit beside Aubrey on the bench. The elleth took her hands and Aubrey felt dull surprise at how warm her skin was, belying the pale tone.

“I need to get home. I need—I need to know how you did it,” she whispered. “How you got here.”

Eruanna breathed deeply and released a slow sigh—the remarkably human gesture made Aubrey look up. She saw sadness in the elleth’s eyes, an aching kind of sadness that spoke of an ancient pain.

“I too woke in this world, though my awakening was far more dramatic than yours,” Eruanna began. “The first thing I remember is water all around me. I had appeared, you see, in one of the pools here. Elrond pulled me out and took me to the healing wing. We had all sorts of fun at first—I spoke no Sindarin, you see; only my own tongue, Teleri.” Now that Aubrey thought about it, the faint accent that coloured her English was a touch different to Haldir’s.

“There was unrest at the time,” Eruanna went on. “It was just after the defeat of Sauron the Deceiver and peace was new, not yet fully established. Much of my earliest memories are of war and strife, with me at the centre of it.” She smiled softly, and said, “I often think that were it not for Glorfindel I would have faded away at that time.”

“Your earliest memories?” Aubrey ventured. “What about—before you woke up?”

“I never regained _all_ of them,” Eruanna mused. “I still have gaps in my memory and sometimes I remember new things . . . but I did remember most of what I had lost at one point. There was a— _catalyst_.” She said this with a grimace and Aubrey knew not to push any further on the topic.

“You—you never told me how you got here . . .” she broke off, sensing what a sensitive subject this still was for the elleth, even all of these years after it had happened. There was a stirring in the trees behind them and Glorfindel and Haldir ducked beneath the branches, re-entering the circle.

Glorfindel took one look at Eruanna’s face and strode to her side, caressing her cheek with a gentle touch. They exchanged words in an unfamiliar language that flowed like water. Haldir sat beside Aubrey, giving her a nod in greeting but nothing more. Like her, he seemed not quite sure what to do in the face of Eruanna and Glorfindel’s effusive love.

Finally, Eruanna looked back to Aubrey. Her face was serene, near beatific. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I did not tell you how I came to be here.”

“No,” Aubrey said for lack of anything else to contribute.

Eruanna’s eyes glittered with sympathy and old hurt, but still she smiled. “I died.”


	21. Chapter 21

Haldir was glad to step out of the glade and leave Aubrey and Eruanna to their conversation. The mortal’s anxiety was stifling to him, pressing against him until he couldn’t quite tell if the fear was hers or his own.

“I seem to have made quite the impression upon your mortal friend,” Glorfindel said lightly, strolling across the grass. Out of the shade of the trees, the sun lit his hair into a bright flame.  

“Indeed you have,” Haldir murmured. He felt again a sliver of that dark jealousy he had felt when Aubrey admitted to kissing Rúmil—why, he had no idea. What was it to him if the girl was struck by Glorfindel’s extraordinary beauty, as so many had been before her?

The Vanyar lord turned around. Each of his fine, long eyelashes was a golden filament in the sunlight. “The question is—have you made an impression upon her?”

Haldir groaned, tipping his head back in exasperation. “Please, not you as well. I have come all this way to escape Rúmil’s taunts.”

“In that case, you had better speak of what you wish to—or I will not be stopped.” Glorfindel grinned.

“I almost do not want to,” Haldir said softly. “For surely what I have to say will steal the smile from your face.”

Glorfindel’s brows furrowed. “Tell me, mellon nin.”

“Orcs have come to our borders—from Dol Guldur. I had a letter from Erundil of Eryn Galen; he said that they had seen more and more orcs and spiders, and many other foul creatures, in the southern woods.” Haldir related. “A party of orcs came to our borders some two months ago; they had evidently come from the east.”

“That is troubling indeed . . . I take it you defeated their assault?”

Haldir’s hands curled into tight fists and his lips flattened into a grim line. Nonetheless, there was no disguising the slight tremor that took over his features. “We did; but not without cost. Celedan fell.”

Grief clouded Glorfindel’s cerulean eyes, immediate and deep. “I am truly sorry. How is Meril? And his boy?”

“Meril is . . . coping. Barely. I think that she may leave for Valinor soon, and take the child with her. Little Roitar—I have not seen him since that night.” _I cannot bear to see his face._

They shared a long moment of silent grief before Glorfindel raised his head once more. “Anything that I can do,” he said steadily, “I shall do it. I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” Haldir replied. “I hope that I shall not need your help, but I am glad of it.”

“Tell me happier news,” Glorfindel begged. “What else has happened in your Lórien? What about this mortal—tell me of her.”

Haldir sighed, rolling his neck. “Where would I begin? She appeared on the plains to the west, before the mountains. We escorted her into the city and my lady Galadriel decreed that she must stay with us. I have been training her.”

“Yes? How has she fared? I think even I would struggle under _your_ tutoring,” Glorfindel said, smiling slyly.  

He huffed. “I have been _more_ than patient with the girl. I must admit—though she was reticent at first, she has proven my expectations vastly wrong. She works hard and her dedication has paid off. I am . . . _proud_ to call her my student.”

Glorfindel’s brow rose. “And perhaps your friend?”

Haldir swallowed uncomfortably. “Perhaps,” he said softly.

The ellon raised his golden head suddenly, like a dog catching a scent on the wind. “I must—Eruanna,” he murmured, striding quickly back towards the glade.

Haldir shook his head in wonder, following behind at a more sedate pace. He had never seen a bond of such strength between two elves, that they could sense the flavour of the other’s distress almost before it was truly felt. Sure enough, when they re-entered the glade, Eruanna’s wide grey eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Glorfindel went to her and took his face in his hands, murmuring endearments in a language Haldir did not speak.

Uncomfortable with the feeling of intruding upon a private scene, he looked towards his mortal charge and saw with some concern that her cheeks were flushed with distress, her own eyes pained. He sat beside her, the only gesture of solidarity that he could bring himself to give.

He was so intent upon her pained eyes that he did not register Eruanna’s confession until a moment after she had given it. He shuddered at her words: _I died._

Of course he had known the story—what elf alive those two thousand years ago had not? Two elves suddenly living in Imladris who had come back from Mandos, they were famous for their defiance of death. But it was not until he saw the gathered tears spill from Aubrey’s eyes that he registered what the admission would mean to her.

Her face crumpled and she flew from the bench, stumbling in her haste to get away. He did not think—just ran after her, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Her head start did not afford her much of a lead and he caught her easily, grasping her arm and tugging her to a gentle halt. “Wait,” he implored her.

She whirled around to face him and he recoiled from the fury, the _hatred_ in her eyes. “Did you know?” She demanded.

“I—”

“ _Did you know?”_

“Yes.” He said simply. His voice was colder than he had meant it to be, but he could not take it back, even when all the remaining warmth leached from her normally bright, playful eyes.

“How could you?” She asked quietly. And then, when he did not respond, she lunged forwards and slapped him, a well-placed and powerful blow that he was distantly, abstractly proud of. “ _How could you bring me all of this way to learn that?”_ She gasped.

“You wanted to know the truth,” he retorted, grabbing her wrists and holding them still. “Is it my fault if you don’t like it?”

“You could have _warned_ me!” She snarled. “We were travelling for three weeks, it didn’t occur to you even _once_ to tell me this?”

“No,” he hissed in return. “I did not realise—”

“What? What didn’t you realise? That I’m _dead?”_

“You do not know that for certain,” he said. “Eruanna is from this world, you are not. Your circumstances are different.” His voice was hard and cold and Eru, he couldn’t _stop_ himself. He felt as if he stood apart from his body, because he longed to take her in his arms and ease her pain but he _couldn’t._

“My God,” she choked, “do you even care?”

Maybe he hadn’t really, until that moment. But when she stood there, angry and hurt and _terrified,_ accusing him of indifference, he realised suddenly how desperately wrong she was. He felt a shift within him; as if a dam had crumbled within him and now everything that he had held back was unstoppable. He darted forwards and grasped her shoulders, jerking her gaze to his with a rough hand on her chin. “I have spent hours teaching you all that I know to protect you,” he hissed. “I have left my home and trekked for weeks to find answers. I have risked my life and my brother’s, left my people unguarded. I have done it all for _you._ I care _very much.”_

She looked for all the world as if she might stab him, had she a knife to hand. Instead, she took a deep breath and let it out in a long, drawn out wail that was half sob, half sigh. Her arms came around him and she sank into him, trembling. “I’m dead,” she gasped, her eyes wild. “I’m _dead_.”

“No,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly against his chest. “You are here, and you are alive.”

“Eruanna said—and I can’t remember the last few hours before I—before I . . .” she trailed off. Her voice was muffled in his tunic.

He took her hands from where they clung to the material of his shirt and brought them around to join with his between their bodies. He pressed one of her hands to his chest and the other to hers, overlapping their fingers. “I can feel your heartbeat, just as I can feel mine,” he whispered. “Do you understand? You are _alive._ ”

“You don’t know that,” she protested.

“I believe it,” he said. “I have to.”

o0o

Rúmil set aside the transcript he was reading and looked up. Ilye was leant over a manuscript, a pen stuck haphazardly though her hair. “Ilye,” he called, reaching for the test he had just finished.

“What is it?” She asked him, looking up with that dazed expression she gained whenever he interrupted her reading.

“I have been reading more about Eruanna.” He said. “It has occurred to me—we all know that Eruanna and her husband came here through the Halls of Mandos, yes?”

Ilye frowned, retrieving her pen and using it to hold her page. “Yes, of course.”

“Is it not possible that Aubrey, too, came to us this way? That she is—”

“Dead?” Ilye gasped. “But she is not an elf, she cannot have come from Mandos’ halls. I had not even considered it.”

“The only two people to ever have appeared mysteriously in this realm came to it following their death,” he said reasonably.

“But Eruanna had no memory of her past life,” Ilye argued.

Rúmil shrugged. “Glorfindel did.”

Ilye shook her head furiously. “No—it would be too horrible for poor Aubrey. Eru, I wish I was with her,” she said uneasily.

Rúmil reached across and took her hand in his. “They will return soon,” he reminded her. “Be there for her then.”

o0o

Aubrey sat upon a bridge, her knees tucked up to her chin. Far beneath her, a tributary of the Bruinen laughed over a small waterfall, making rainbows of the evening sunlight.

She did not know how long she had sat there, alone. Long enough that her legs were cramping, certainly. She hadn’t been able to face companionship, not with Eruanna’s terrible revelation ringing in her ears. _I am dead._

She recalled thinking that Lórien was some sort of heaven upon first arriving in Caras Galadhon. _How right I was,_ she thought bitterly. A cloud passed over the setting sun and she shivered, drawing her knees closer into her body.

“It is late to be out by yourself, Hiril Nin.”

She stiffened, biting down on her lip. _Go away,_ she wanted to say. She couldn’t endure Glorfindel’s obscene perfection. Being dead was bad enough, she couldn’t cope with also feeling insignificant next to the elven lord’s beauty. “I wanted to be alone,” she said flatly.

“I am familiar with the desire,” he said. His voice was light, carefree almost, but there was a gravitas to his words that reminded her of Galadriel.

“What do you want?” She asked him bluntly. Her mother would have been aghast at her poor manners, but she simply did not have it in her to be polite.

She heard the shift of his clothes and the scuff of his boot on the wooden bridge, and then he dropped down beside her, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bridge. “I know what you are feeling,” he said.

She wanted to scoff, to tell him that he couldn’t possibly know, but he had spoken the words with a bald, honest truth that she could not deny. “How?” She asked him, looking at his reflection in the pool below them so that she would not have to look at his face.

He reflection smiled wryly. “Do you know what a balrog is?”

She shook her head mutely.

“I am from a city called Gondolin. In the first age, thousands upon thousands of years ago, I was a lord of the city. I was the head of a great house. At that time, there was a war going on—I will not bore you with the particulars, but suffice it to say that one day, Gondolin found itself under siege. The creatures that besieged us were great, and foul. Dragons, there were—but far greater were the balrogs. Demons of fire and smoke they are, ten times as tall as a man and hundreds of times more powerful. As they evacuated the city, I met one of the beasts in combat. Face to face we fought, upon the summit of a great mountain. I will never forget those moments. My armour melted onto my skin as we fought, so fierce was the beast’s flame. At last, when I was seconds from expiring of exhaustion, I pierced the balrog. It fell with a tremendous scream, louder and more terrible than a nazgul. I had turned my back upon it, Aubrey—that was my mistake. For as it fell, it reached out and grabbed onto my hair . . . it pulled me from the mountain. What a hideous thing it was, to fall to my death in its burning embrace. The last thing that I remember is looking up and seeing Gondolin, my city— _burning._ ”

“You mean . . .” she broke off.

He nodded, tipping his chin back to look at the sky. “I died,” he confirmed. “There seems to be a lot of that going around, no?”

“How did you—”

“Come back to life?” his voice was wry.

She smiled thinly. “I guess.”

“I do not know. Eruanna and I were brought back at the same time, two thousand years past. We always presumed we were simply given another chance by the Valar. Perhaps it was the will of Eru himself.” He mused.

“How did you—come to terms with it?” She asked him. “Don’t you miss Gondolin?”

“Of course I miss it,” he said softly. “But Gondolin is no more. Buried beneath miles of water it lies, unreachable to me through time. But what kind of life could I lead if always I looked to the past? My life is in this time, now. I have new friends, I have my wife.”

“What about your old friends?” She pressed, turning finally to look at him. The affect he had upon her was nowhere near as strong as it had been that morning, but was still powerful enough to make her head spin.

“They are all gone,” he murmured. “But I trust that I will see them again once more, in Valinor.”

Aubrey bit her lip. “I don’t think that works for me,” she said sadly. “I . . . I came here hoping to find a way to get back to my brother.”

“I am sorry for you,” Glorfindel told her, and she believed him.

“I can’t—I can’t get my head around the fact that I won’t see him again,” she said. A sob bubbled through her words. “And I cannot stop thinking of him believing that I’m—that I’m dead.”

“I know that this is not what you want to hear,” Glorfindel said carefully, “but I must say it anyway. For elves, grief is a permanent thing. There is not a day in my life that I do not grieve for all that I have lost. We are eternal, you see, and so are our emotions. But humans, you are lucky. You are transient in your loves and sorrows, I have seen it. Your brother . . . I do not call into question your bond, for I have seen what great love humans may hold for one another. But know this—he will move on from your ‘death’. He will grieve for you and he will miss you, but eventually someone else will fill that hole in his heart and he will live on.”

A thick lump grew in Aubrey’s throat and she bit down hard on her lip to keep it from trembling. She wasn’t quite sure who she was if she wasn’t Evan’s sister. She looked down at the pool beneath her and whispered a wish to the great Bruinen. Once, she wished that Glorfindel was right, and Evan would be okay. But twice she asked that he be wrong, and Evan would never let her go.


	22. Chapter 22

Aubrey barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes a new vision of her possible death chased through her mind. Dawn had not quite touched the sky when she gave in and rose, dressing simply in breeches and a tunic. She couldn’t bear to stay in Imladris; she was terrified that she would run into Haldir—after the day before, she thought that if she saw the tall elf she might run into his arms and never let him go.

Instead, she sought the quiet, lonely solitude of the valley below the city. Far below Imladris, the Bruinen raced along the valley floor and it was to its banks that she went, reaching the river even before the sun did. Just below the small falls that they had passed on their way into Imladris was a wider section of water where the river slowed and formed a natural pool no deeper than Aubrey’s waist. She toed off her boots at the edge of the river bank, rolling up her breeches, waded into the water.

Her first thought was that she had never felt anything so cold—not even the mountain streams that carved their way through the Pennine’s glacial valleys. Her calves were quickly bright red with cold and she shivered as she paddled, wading out into the very centre of the pool. The water there lapped at her knees, twisting into small eddies that petered out before they reached the shore. There was a flash of silver beside her left foot and she startled—sure enough, a shoal of tiny fish, each no larger than her smallest finger, knifed their way through the shallows.

She made her way over to the falls, feeling the downwards slope of the ground beneath her until the bottoms of her rolled up breeches were soaked. She heaved herself up onto a boulder set at the side of the falls and stretched her legs out, enjoying the gentle tug of the current against her feet. She watched daylight spread through the valley like milk swirling into hot tea.

Evan would have loved it here, she thought sadly. Even more than the splendour of Lórien’s forests, easily-awed Evan would have been captivated by the thundering waterfalls that shaped Imladris. She imagined that he was here with her—he would be trying to catch a fish, she knew. Not out of any malicious desire to hurt the tiny creatures, but the innocent curiosity that he had towards all animals. He’d been so good with animals, she recalled with a smile—dogs especially.

“Good morning, Aubrey.”

So startled was she that she almost toppled into the pool. It was Elrond who had broken into her reverie; he stood at the edge of the water on the far side of the pool. River water lapped at his boots, painting the grey rocks beneath his feet as dark as his wavy hair.

“Hello,” she managed, her heart pounding. “Do all elves sneak up on people, then? I thought it was just the ones in Lothlórien.”

He gave a small smile. “I think anyone may sneak up upon anyone when their steps are masked by the Loud Water.”

“Ah, you have me there. How can I help you, Lord Elrond?”

“I merely wanted to ask how you are coping with what you learned yesterday,” he said.

She stiffened and drew her legs up onto the bolder, rubbing at her shins to warm them. “I . . . I keep wondering _how_ ,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Was it a car crash? Was I murdered in my bed? I’ll never know. I always thought I’d go quietly, you know? Just . . . go to sleep, and not wake up. Maybe an illness, maybe an accident, but this—” she broke off, blinking rapidly. “I don’t suppose elves are very used to death,” she mused.

Elrond inclined his head. He was silent for a long moment, then looked up once more, staring down the stream. “When my sons were young,” he began softly, “they used to play here. At one time, they decided that they would dam the Bruinen. They did not tell me—I think they thought I would disapprove of their plan. But every morning they would sneak from their beds and come down here, finding stones in the riverbed and along the forest floor and stacking them there—just there, below where you sit.”

Aubrey scanned the stretch of water he indicated; there was nothing there to cause even a ripple in the water. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said, stepping lightly from stone to stone to join her on her side of the river. “You can see that—there is nothing of their presence here. Do you know what this tells me?”

 _That your sons are pretty bad at making dams?_ “I don’t know,” she said sullenly, resting her chin upon her left knee.

Elrond’s hand came to rest upon her shoulder. “Two elflings could no more dam the Bruinen than I could alter the flow of time. Nature will always revert to the way that it is meant to be—and we cannot change that. Mortal or immortal, Eldar or Edain, we may fight as long as we wish and hope for as much as we dare, but there is no power within us that can change what has come to pass.”

She nodded, as numb as her icy toes. “That doesn’t make it much easier,” she muttered, turning away from the elven lord’s kind eyes. “I’ve lost my brother,” she whispered. It was the first time that she had admitted it aloud, the first time that she had allowed herself to accept that she would _never see Evan again._ She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream and sob, or never speak again, or jump into the Bruinen and die once more—maybe then she would go home?

Elrond eased himself down onto the boulder beside her. He sat in such a way as to conceal his expression whilst still letting her feel his comforting presence. “I am called _Peredhel,”_ he said. “Do you know what it means?”

“I think it means half something,” she ventured.

She felt his hair stir against her arm when he nodded. “Half _elven._ Mortal was my great grandfather, so half mortal am I. It is the right of the _Peredhil_ to choose the immortal life of the elves, or the mortal gift of death.” He paused there, and Aubrey felt certain that if she were to turn around and look, there would be tears in his eyes. “I chose the life of an elf,” he said unnecessarily. “My twin brother did not.”

Sympathy coursed through her. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. She reached behind her for his hand and squeezed it lightly.

He stood and faced her once more. His eyes were dry, to her surprise, but they had none of the joyful, friendly glitter they had held the day before. “You are kind,” he said. His voice rang with the authority of an edict. “I came here to return you to the city, I know that Haldir is anxious for you to return to Lórien before winter sets in. I am pleased to know you, Aubrey. Always you will be welcomed in Imladris.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it genuinely. The wise elf had an almost fatherly manner to him, and he had managed to draw her desperation from her, if not her sadness. She sighed and stood, pulling her boots back on. She would be glad to get back to Lórien, she realised. She could not wait to speak with Ilye, and she found that she had even missed Rúmil’s brazen flirting.

She let her mind wander through Lórien’s golden woods even as Elrond led her back up the valley to Imladris.

o0o

Their farewell had been a fairly ceremonial affair, at least by Aubrey’s standards. Eruanna and Glorfindel had embraced her and bade her write to them on pain of retribution, whilst Elrond had urged her to visit again under more pleasant circumstances, and for longer. Their hosts had exchanged far longer farewells with Orophin and Haldir; Aubrey found it curious that such real and true friendships could exist between people who only saw each other every few hundred years.

Haldir and Orophin had seemed subdued after their parting. They rode down the valley in silence, each of them too engrossed in their own thoughts to make any conversation. It was not until they reached the mouth of the valley that Aubrey broke the silence.

“Hang on,” she called when Haldir turned Celeroch to follow the Misty Mountains south, rather than the north westerly direction that would take them to Lórien. “Where are we going?”

“Lórien actually lies to the south of Imladris, but we came from the north because the Pass of Caradhras is the quickest route.” Haldir said, taking his reins in one hand and pointing up at the highest mountain they could see. The peak loomed high above Imladris, swathed in thick, dark cloud. “That is Caradhras,” he said.  “The snow has come, see? The pass will be blocked, that way is closed to us now.”

Aubrey frowned. She certainly didn’t like the thought of the already treacherous mountains covered in snow. “Where are we going, then?”

“We will make for the gap of Rohan,” Orophin said, bringing Sirdal up beside her.

Haldir nodded. “It is passable all year and an easier route. It is a much longer journey, however—it will take us at least six weeks to get home.”

Aubrey blinked. She could not quite process such a long trip. “In my world,” she said faintly, “you can get anywhere, anywhere in the world, in a day or two.”

“It must be a very small world,” Orophin mused.

“Not at all! But we have flying machines, you see. And cars. I miss my car.”

Haldir looked at her as if he was worried she might be ill. “Yes,” he said finally. “However, here you are, and here you must ride.”

Aubrey sighed heavily. Her thighs were already beginning to ache again. “ _Goody_ ,” she muttered, and urged Fingo on across the sloping plain before her.

o0o

Two weeks of their journey passed with no incident other than the girl burning her hand upon a cooking pot. They had made good time through the plains of Enedwaith and had reached the borders of Dunland sooner than he had predicted. The plains here were large but of poor quality; most of the grass was too tough for a horse to eat and it was broken up by long swathes of barren, stony ground. The soil here was red with iron, enough to stunt the plants but not enough to provide any useful ore.

Much of the awkward tension that had risen between he and the mortal had eased over the past two weeks as they slipped back into their familiar roles, only now he found himself able to compliment her for her achievements and offer her kindness when the loss of her home and her brother became too much in the evenings. Far too often over the past fortnight, he had found himself sat beside her, humming quiet lullabies to help her through the worst of her nightmares.

They’d spent the night camped in the sheltering shadow of a small copse of scrubby hawthorn trees, not bothering to set a watch in the relatively placid environment. He rose that morning with a feeling of unease. It was not dissimilar to the feeling of being watched from a distance—a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that warned of a threat in the near future. Attributing the bizarre sensation with unease at being in relatively unknown land, Haldir stood and pulled on his boots.

He crossed the campsite to where the mortal lay and woke her in his customary way, with a gentle touch to her shoulder. “Get up,” he told her. “I want to clear Dunland today.”

The girl sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Orophin answered from where he was making breakfast over their small fire. “The Dunlandings are wild men,” he said, a hint of glee in his tone. Haldir smirked; his brother had always loved to tell a good story.

Aubrey sat up straighter. “Wild as in . . . ?”

“Once they inhabited the fertile plains of Rohan,” Haldir said, before Orophin could tell tales of cannibalism and incest. “But they were driven out here by the Gondorians, and then the Rohirrim. They have retained a certain—bitterness.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Aubrey remarked. “I’d be quite put out if I was suddenly forced from my home— _oh wait,”_ she said waspishly.

He and Orophin exchanged a smirk. Their human companion was infamously short tempered in the morning. “Don’t feel too sorry for them,” he urged her, helping himself to some of the broth Orophin had prepared. “They would happily kill you.”

“Nevertheless, I think it would be interesting to meet them,” she said mulishly.

He shook his head exasperatedly, thrusting a bowl in her direction. “Eat your breakfast, mortal.”

o0o

Aubrey got her wish later that day, much to Haldir’s consternation. They had been travelling for five or six hours, alternating between leading the horses and riding, when Orophin let out a low whistle. The call was a signal Haldir would have known in his sleep, and he instantly drew his sword.

“Where?” he hissed, stopping at Orophin’s side and forcing Aubrey and Fingo between them. The mortal gave a muted protest which he silenced with a glare.

Orophin pointed down the slope of the plain. He had his bow in hand, an arrow resting lax against the string. “There,” he murmured. “Three men, do you see?”

Haldir spotted them instantly. “They are approaching,” he realised.

Aubrey pushed forwards. “What’re we going to do?” she demanded.

“You wanted to meet a Dunlanding,” Orophin said grimly. “Now you shall meet three.”

For the first time in his life, Haldir realised that he wanted to run from a threat. The three men, he could see, were heavily armed and bore the striking facial tattoos of warriors. He could have shot them from their horses as soon as seen them, but it was not in him to murder without cause. The thought of them attacking, though—the very real danger that Aubrey was suddenly in—that was starting to feel like cause enough.

He saw as they approached that one of the three men sat awkwardly slumped in his saddle, supported by the man on either side. He caught Orophin’s eye, confirming the other elf had noted the man’s injury, and murmured to Aubrey, “One of them is hurt.”

She leaned forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching men. “We’ll help, right?”

He exchanged another heavy glance with his brother. “Possibly,” he murmured.

Before Aubrey could press him about what he meant, the three Dunlendings were heading down the rise they sat at the bottom of—he cursed the poor strategic position—and pulling up their horses not three metres from where the Lórien trio waited.

Haldir scanned the group. Their horses were leggy and stunted, of terrible stock—these men were evidently innocent of stealing from the Rohirrim. Two of the men dismounted, their swords naked by their sides. The third remained upon his horse, clinging desperately to the animal’s neck. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his skin was sallow. Haldir curled his lip; the rank stink of death hung about the man, more telling of his condition even than the rancid, open wound in his abdomen. The scent was strong enough that even Aubrey recoiled; he grabbed onto Fingo’s bridle to hold them still.

Haldir watched the men for their reaction; their eyes went from the silver radiance of his hair to his elegantly pointed ears.

“You are elves,” the first man said.

 _Not all of us._ He did not voice the thought; if the men’s awe of his species kept them at a distance, he would not enlighten them to their mistake. He thanked Eru and each of the Valar that Aubrey had taken to wearing her hood up as the days cooled.

The second man stepped forwards and laid his sword upon the ground at Celeroch’s feet. “We thought that you might be,” he said. His Westron was slightly accented by the tongue of his people. “Please, our friend is gravely injured. He needs elvish medicine.”

“You are heading away from Imladris,” Haldir observed.

“He would not make it so far,” the first man said bluntly. Haldir did not contradict him—he was evidently correct. “Will you not help?”

Before he could speak, he felt Aubrey’s hand on his arm. “ _Please,”_ she spoke in her halting, amateur Sindarin. “ _These are my people—human. I have seen not another human since I got here. Please help them.”_

He studied her face, taking in the genuine concern in her eyes and the fierce determination in the set of her jaw. “I am not a healer,” he said. “But I will see what I can do.”

He turned away before he could see the gratitude in her expression, but felt it nonetheless.

o0o

The appearance of the men stunned Aubrey. It was not the vivid blue tattoos that marked their faces, or the short, thick swords they wore at their waists—it was the fact that they were _human._

She had not seen another human for months. She could not stop staring at the men, revelling in their imperfections. The tallest man had recently shaved, but the cut was uneven and patches of coarse hair were a few millimetres thicker in places. His brows grew too close together and his nose was dinted just below the bridge. The second man’s pores gaped a little too large and his teeth were crooked in his narrow jaw. His eyes were lined with crow’s feet and the hair at his temples was beginning to thin and grey.

She had never seen anything as compelling as these subtle imperfections. She was reminded of the roads around her house; they were terrible and full of potholes, but after a long time away from home there was nothing better than the juddering feel of her little car thundering over those potholes.  After months of being surrounded by nothing but the perfect beauty of the elves, topped off by Glorfindel’s near painful radiance, looking at these men was like coming home.

She couldn’t stop herself from dismounting and hurrying after Haldir and the first man. Together, elf and human lifted the injured man down from his saddle and laid him upon the ground. Aubrey’s stomach turned at what was revealed. A gaping slice cut through the man’s abdomen, from his navel to the middle of his ribs. His shirt had been removed and bound clumsily around the wound which was still weeping blood. He let out a low groan and she wretched; his voice sounded _wet_.

“Get out of the way,” Haldir snapped, shouldering her aside.

She startled. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She longed to help, but had to accept that she would be nothing but a hindrance. She resorted to untacking the horses. By the soft moans the man was making and the grim expression on Haldir’s face, this would take a long time.

o0o

The sun had set when Haldir finally sat back on his heels, wiping his blood stained hands upon a rag. “I can do no more for him,” he sighed. “I have cleansed and sewn the wound; the bindings will need to be changed every day. This salve—” he held a small ceramic jar aloft— “Is made from _athelas,_ it will fight infection.”

The two Dunlanding men nodded and clasped his hands. “Thank you,” the first said. “We are in your debt, good elf.”

Haldir furrowed his brows and thought quickly. _What can I ask for?_ He was still troubled by the tendrils of unease that had bothered him that morning, and so he said, “Would you repay this by allowing us to camp with you? We could use a night of easy sleep.”

The two human men exchanged a glance and a few words in their own language. “Of course,” the leader said. “We would be honoured.”

o0o

Aubrey could not seem to sleep. The hot, rank stink of blood would not leave her nostrils; it spooked the horses as well, stirring them into an alert near-panic. She rolled over, sweeping her hair behind her ears. Haldir and Orophin had fallen asleep, she thought, but the two Dunlanding men were still sat by the fire, talking quietly.

Eventually they were quiet and she sighed, rolling over so that her back was to the heat of the fire. A stem of grass tickled her nose and she sneezed, then stiffened. She was sure she’d heard something—a tiny noise, masked by her sneeze. She tensed, her hand going to the slender dagger Haldir made her keep beneath her rolled up cloak as she slept.

A horse chuffed and she relaxed, smirking at her own hyper-tension. _Jumping at Fingo’s farts now, are you?_

The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she stiffened once more. She breathed in and her nose was filled with the stench of unwashed man—certainly not Orophin or Haldir.

A hot hand clamped over her mouth and nose and jerked her onto her back. She took a breath to scream but a sharp jab to her ribs left her breathless and silent, tears streaming from her eyes at the impact.

Vibrant blue tattoos swam above her and she had the impression of greying hair and crooked teeth. _The second man._

His rough, calloused hand tightened over her mouth and he leaned down, tracing a finger over the blunt curve of her ear. “Human,” he breathed. “Just like me. What are you doing with elves, you little whore? Blonde hair, tall, I know you—you’re Rohirric, aren’t you?”

She could not shake her head against his grip, so she resorted to thrusting her knee up. He dodged the blow easily and settled his thigh over hers, pinning her legs down. “ _Tsk tsk,”_ he hissed into her ear. “You know what happens to Rohirric girls who wander into Dunland, don’t you?”

_I just bet I fucking do._

Something cold pressed against her side—a knife, she realised abstractly. Somehow, it did not feel nearly as threatening as the crooked teeth above her face. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Shall I kill you first, or fuck you?”

 _One chance,_ she thought. _One chance._

Her fingers tightened around the dagger beneath her cloak and she replayed Haldir’s voice in her mind—the patient, slightly exasperated tone as he told her, _again¸_ exactly what to do with a knife she had taken from the enemy.

_Into the neck, if you can reach._

Aubrey gripped the dagger and eased it from beneath her cloak. She flexed her arm up, and she tasted blood.


	23. Chapter 23

Haldir was woken by the scent of blood filtering into his dreams. It was not the cool, winter-sharp-hint-of-salt smell of elf blood, but a hot-iron stink that reminded him of the inside of a foundry. _Mortal blood, human blood._

_Aubrey._

He sprang to his feet, his sword in his hand, fear coursing through him and lending him strength and speed he had never known before.

Before him was a horrific tableau: one of the Dunland men pinned Aubrey to the ground with the length of his body, a long, jagged knife pressed just beneath her ribcage. Aubrey herself was covered in blood—her face gleamed with the sticky fluid in the low light and her hair, spread out around her head, looked black. Dread coursed through him and he felt a keen, sharp pain lance against him. She could _not_ be dead—not now, not when she had begun to warm to him, when she had finally accepted Arda as her home, when he had begun to—

With a pained grunt, the mortal girl heaved the Dunland man off her. Haldir blinked, stupefied. Embedded into the man’s neck was a knife— _his_ knife, the one he had given her before their journey. Thick blood pulsed hotly around the wound, covering Aubrey in her assailant’s life-blood. She stared down at the man’s heaving form, seeming transfixed by the way his last breaths made the gory wound at his throat bubble.

Haldir heard Orophin and the other able-bodied Dunlanding rise behind him but could not bring himself to move—he was as transfixed by the man’s death as Aubrey.  A dark part of him was _glad,_ he realised; a part of him _relished_ the man’s death and was sorry that it had not come at his own hand. He fought against the dark thoughts desperately—it was not in him to feel such things, he told himself. That way lay darkness the likes of which his kind abhorred.

The Dunland man twitched, shuddered and lay still. Slow, trance-like in her movements, Aubrey reached over to the man and grasped the hilt of the dagger she had embedded in his neck. She pulled the blade free in one smooth movement, wincing silently when a fresh wave of blood followed. Eerily calm, she wiped the blade clean upon the grass, placed it carefully upon her folded cloak, and then pitched forwards, retching onto the blood stained ground.

o0o

Aubrey felt as if she was watching a bad horror film. Surely one man could not have that much blood? It spilled over her face and neck, hot and iron-tasting, so much of it that it ran into her mouth and up her nose. She fought against her rising gorge and shoved the Dunlanding away desperately, sitting up and drawing herself away from him.

Haldir was there, stood not six feet away, his sword raised in his hand and an expression of taught, abstract horror on his face. She tore her eyes away, focusing on the dying man—for somehow it was less painful to watch the last moments of a man she had _murdered_ than to watch another second of Haldir’s disgust.

 _I have killed a man,_ she thought.

The thought did not seem real—it was as if she were six years old again, dressed as a knight, telling Evan that she had killed a dragon.

When the man was still, she pulled the knife from his neck. It was covered in blood, some of it drying and congealing about the elegant hilt. _You must clean the blade._ She wiped it on the damp grass, but there was blood on her fingers and on the floor—how could she hope to clean it? It was the sight of the dark stains around her fingernails that tipped her over the edge.

She slumped forwards, retching up the broth she had eaten the evening before. Vomit and bile splashed over her hands but she could not bring herself to care—it could not be worse than the blood there.

A harsh sob wracked through her, shattering any semblance of composure. _I am sobbing into the blood of a man I have murdered,_ she thought. God, she couldn’t take this anymore—each day had been one more blow, it seemed to her. She was _dead,_ how long would it be before she could simply be peaceful?

She felt a warm hand upon her shoulder and then she was drawn up into strong arms. She gazed up into Haldir’s silver eyes, both longing for and dreading what she would find there. She saw worry and compassion, and a deep anger that she sensed was not aimed at her. She trembled in his arms as he carried her away. He did not speak as he took her from the campsite, walking far enough that she could not hear the increasingly loud voices of the remaining Dunlanding and Orophin.

Finally he stopped beside a small, jutting boulder and sat her upon the makeshift seat. He took a small cloth from his tunic and began to wipe at her face, meticulously cleaning the dribble of bitter bile on her chin and the macabre mask of blood that she wore.

He did not speak at all, but his hands were gentle in their ministrations. Finally, he nodded as if to deem her clean. _I do not feel clean._

“He was going to rape me,” she said dully.

Haldir nodded slowly. “I know. You did well,” he said.

“Have you ever killed someone?” she asked him. Her voice was bleak.

He was silent for a long time. “I have killed too many orcs and goblins for me to count. Thousands. In four and a half thousand years, I have only killed three humans. They were Easterlings fighting for—for a dark force.”

“What about an elf?”

He froze beside her. “I would not—I could not kill another of my kind.”

“I have,” she said. “I thought I was ready—I did the first thing that came to mind, I just remembered what you said about orcs. But,” she whispered. “He wasn’t an orc. He was _human._ He was a _person._ He was like—”

Haldir cut her off, his voice harsh. “He was _not_ like you. A man does not attempt to rape for the first time in a campsite six metres from his victim’s companions. That man was versed in his crime; you were not his first victim. Just the first to fight back. You did what you had to, no?”

“I—I could have pushed him away . . . or, or called for you—he didn’t have to die,” she mumbled.

He crouched before her then, taking her face between his warm palms. “He had a knife to your stomach, you could no more have pushed him away than you could have run from him. And do not insult your bravery; it is not in your nature to call for help when you are perfectly capable of helping yourself. Besides,” he said coldly, “if you had called out for me, then I would have killed him myself.”

“I—I think I know, logically, that you’re right,” she said. Her voice was abstract, as if she was trying to gather words from thoughts that would not obey her. “But I’ve never—I don’t . . . in my world, you can’t kill people. _Nobody_ kills people. You don’t just—” she broke off, closing her teeth on a small sob.

He moved to sit upon the rock beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and drawing her into his side. “This is your world now,” he reminded her. “You did no more or less than what you should have. Aubrey—I am _proud_ of you.”

“You’ve never said my name before,” she told him.

“I know, Aubrey.” He said. She relaxed, exhausted, against his side, trembling with the shock of what had happened and the weight of what she had done. He rested his cheek against her soft hair and sighed deeply. He could not forget the moment of believing she was dead, and the agony of it.

o0o

Aubrey thought that she might be in shock. A thick, cloying numbness had settled over her as Haldir led her back to camp, broken only by a sharp lance of regret and confusion when she saw the large, dark shadow on the ground where the man’s blood had soaked into the grass.

Orophin or possibly the other man had shifted her attacker’s body out of the fire’s flickering light and had thrown a hasty blanket over him. Orophin had also drawn an arrow to his bow, which he held calmly on level with the remaining Dunland man’s breast. Aubrey fought the urge to knock him off course—she could not bear to see any more blood spilt that night.

Haldir moved away from her and strode over to the Dunland man. He drew his sword in one smooth motion and as he walked, his face seemed to freeze into a façade colder than she had ever seen before.

The man of Dunland raised his chin proudly. His tattoos stood out against his pale face, reminding Aubrey terribly of his dead companion. “Elf,” he said levelly.

“ _Dunlanding,”_ Haldir returned. She noticed that he did not say ‘mortal’, and silently thanked him for it. “I do not know the law of your land, but I know ours well. Shall I make this an official proceeding?”

“If it so please you,” the man said tightly.

“For the attempted rape and murder of Aubrey _Palarran_ , citizen of the Golden Wood and ward of the Lord and Lady, your companion is henceforth banished from Lothlórien for the duration of his life, and all descendants of his line are denied the protection of Lórien.” Here Haldir paused, his eyes flicking regretfully to where Aubrey stood shivering next to the fire. “Technically, in accordance with our laws, you are entitled to take _retribution_ for the murder of your companion.” He narrowed his eyes, and their silver hue was as cold as January snow. “Know this, Dunlanding—retribution may be your right, but I am the Marchwarden of Lothlórien. For the crimes you have committed against us I could march the host Lórien, a thousand strong, straight to your meagre village within the month. Are you ready to take this challenge?”

The man’s face flushed in anger. “I know what you are capable of, elf; I have seen small scouting parties from Rivendell fighting. I have no wish to call down the wrath of an entire army upon my people. He—” he jerked his chin at the body of his late companion— “was a filthy bastard. If he did what you say then I congratulate you on your knife work and wish you on your way.” His eyes softened and he looked up, meeting Aubrey’s gaze. “You urged your elves here to help my injured friend. To do what he did after the freely given help . . . he has dishonoured our people. I am not saddened by his death, I seek no retribution. Only the assurance that the lady is unharmed.”

Haldir seemed faintly put out. “Very well,” he said brusquely. “We take our leave of you, Dunlanding. Change your friend’s blessings daily else he meets the same fate as—him.”

o0o

Aubrey felt as if she rode through a thick fog, through the late autumn sky was wide and blue without a cloud in site. They had entered Rohan, the land of the Horselords. A rolling, undulating sea of grass stretched before them and she was sure she would have been elated by the beautiful sight had she been able to think of anything but the taste of the Dunlanding’s blood when she jerked her knife into his soft, unprotected neck.

They had rode through the remainder of the night, exhausted but each of them unable to rest. Before they had left the campsite and the two Dunlandings behind, Orophin and Haldir had both embraced her tightly and they now rode on either side of her. Every now and then, one of them would try and engage her in conversation, and Haldir kept glancing at her as if he was afraid she would disappear.

When they at last stopped for lunch, she slid listlessly from Fingo’s back and began to go through the motions of securing his tack with mechanical precision. She had run up his stirrups and twisted his reins before she felt a presence behind her. She whirled so fast the the world spun around her, drawing the knife she had sheathed at her hip. Haldir jumped back, away from the cold bite of the steel dagger.

“Easy,” he murmured.

She lowered the dagger slowly, her eyes darting over Haldir’s shoulder when Sirdal moved suddenly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He waved away her apology. “How are you, _Palarran?”_

“You called me that earlier,” she recalled. “What does it mean?”

“It means far-travelled, or wanderer. I thought it was appropriate, no?”

She felt the tentative beginnings of a smile stretch her lips. “I like it,” she said. “Are you allowed to just give me a name?”

“It is a pillar of elven culture,” he said seriously. “Name giving between those who care for each other.”

“What is the name for _murderer?”_ she asked him, a bitter twist to her words.

His eyes tightened at the corners. “Do not do this,” he entreated her. “Do not let him win in this way.”

“I’m not trying to,” she snapped.

He drew back a pace and straightened. “I may not know your pain, but I know similar. You have not the endless years I had to get over your agony, _Palarran._ Let this go, and be free of it.”

 _I can’t,_ she nearly said. But she knew him well enough now to see the truth in his eyes, and the honesty was like a cool balm on flushed skin. “I want to go home,” she told him. For the first time, she wasn’t sure whether she meant the sloping mountains of her Pennine home, or the Golden Woods of Lórien.


	24. Chapter 24

The wind loved the grass plains of Rohan. Swift gusts swept down from the slopes of the Misty Mountains to west and the White Mountains to the south, meeting upon the plains in an uproarious clamour that could flatten the knee-high grasses to the ground. Aubrey’s cloak snapped about her like a pennant and her hair was teased from the thick braid she had wrestled it into. Haldir and Orophin’s hair was blown around their faces, sunlight catching on the silver strands and turning them into twin halos.

Aubrey found the sight enchanting, just as she loved the somewhat-bleak beauty of the plains they rode through. The gentle, grass-and-heather covered slopes reminded her almost painfully of the Pennines of her home; even the honey sweet scent of the grass was familiar. Each moment of beauty felt like a lie—how could she deserve to enjoy it in any way when her cloak was stained with the blood of a man she had killed?

“Palarran.”

She looked up quickly; Haldir had taken to calling her by her nickname, always with a note of slight affection. “What?”

He gestured down the slope they were riding along. “Look there; do you see the herd?”

Sure enough, a herd of horses were spread out along the bottom of the slope, perhaps three hundred metres from where they rode. They were all large and well-bred; most of them were grey in colour but a few of the animals were brown or black. Aubrey thought that she had never seen such fine horses—they put even Haldir’s magnificent Celeroch to shame.

“Are they wild?” she asked, drawn for a moment out of her despair.

Orophin shook his head, reining Sirdal in. “They belong to the Rohirrim. All through the spring, summer and autumn herds range through the land to graze. They are brought in for winter, of course, and each town and city will have permanent stable blocks where trained mounts are kept, but otherwise the peasants live nomadically, following and guarding their horses.”

“I do not see anyone,” she pointed out.

“There will be a camp somewhere nearby; and do you see that large dun stallion? He will guard his mares and foals if need be.”

She saw the animal; his dark legs were long and powerful and the high tilt of his neck indicated an intelligence beyond what she would have expected. “He is beautiful,” she murmured.

Haldir smiled. “Famed are the horses of the Rohirrim, and for good reason. Even I should not like to face their cavalry.”

Her eyes dulled and she shuddered. “I suspect they could kill a lot of people, these cavalry,” she said. “Maybe they wouldn’t even need a dagger.”

“I did not mean—”

“I know,” she said stiffly. Before he could speak again, she dug her heels into Fingo’s sides and urged him on, moving into a canter in order to pass the herd. She felt Haldir’s eyes on her as she rode away and she was conscious of how Orophin followed her closely, but she did not slow until Fingo’s sides were lathered. Her eyes burned with tears, yet she could not blame the wild wind.

o0o

Haldir gazed at Aubrey’s sleeping form. She lay completely still, yet her face was twisted into a grimace and her hands clenched the hem of her cloak tightly enough that her knuckles and fingertips were white. He had never been more discomforted by her closed eyes, though her eyelids flickered every few seconds.

“She will not move past it,” he said lowly, settling onto a low rock.

Orophin shifted behind him, leaning forwards to place another bundle of twigs and dry grass onto the small fire. “It is not unexpected that this would affect her so,” he said. “I remember after the Dagorlad, you did not speak for two years.”

“But our emotions are different,” he protested. “We feel anguish more deeply than they do. She should be—she should be happy, as she usually was.”

Orophin looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you so sure of that? I remember her face when she realised she could never go home. I think that mortals feel things just as strongly as we do.”

“She was always so bright,” Haldir said. “In all of our training sessions, even when I pushed her to her limits and beyond them, she was lively and happy. Even after—after Celedan’s death, she had fire. I feel as if I am watching her go out. If she were an elf, I would say that she was near fading.”

“But she is not.”

“I _know,”_ he snapped. “I need to draw her from this sadness—this _guilt.”_

“Oh, brother,” Orophin murmured. “This is not about the Dunlanding. Surely you see? This is—”

“Her brother.” Haldir realised. _Of course._ How had he not seen it? “She finds out that she shall never see him again, and then she meets some humans—the first she has seen in so long—”

“—and they betray her, and then she—”

“—yes.”

His thoughts were reeling. “She . . . she is not guilty,” he whispered. “She is _grieving.”_

“For her brother,” Orophin concurred.

He shook his head. “More than that—for her world. For her _self.”_

He sank down onto his knees, reaching across to run a feather-light hand over Aubrey’s dark gold hair. Orophin watched him with narrowed eyes. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

Haldir swallowed, weighing risks in his mind. “We will divert our course,” he said finally, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping mortal. “We will go through Fangorn.”

Orophin sucked in a loud breath and Aubrey shifted, pulling her cloak tighter around her slender shoulders. Haldir sat back, unwilling to chance waking her.

“You dare to bring a mortal into that forest? It is dangerous even for an elf in these times.”

“I went of old,” he said. “Before either of you were born, I travelled to the forest. The ents may be asleep but the trees will know my touch.”

“For my own sake and hers, I hope that you are right,” Orophin muttered.

o0o

The forest loomed before them, a solid mass of dark trees and thick undergrowth. Aubrey’s first thought was that they had reached Lórien at least two weeks sooner than they should have; and then that this dark, foreboding place could not be the Golden Wood.

“This is not Lothlórien,” she stated, resting her hands on her saddle pommel.

Haldir and Orophin exchanged a significant glance. “Indeed not,” Haldir said at last. “This is Fangorn Forest.”

“It looks . . . _inviting,”_ she said scathingly.

Orophin’s eyes hardened. “It is near sacred to our people,” he said tightly. “You would do well to respect this place.”

She recoiled from his harsh words—it was unlike gentle Orophin to be so forceful, at least not with her. “If it is sacred then I certainly can’t go in,” she said curtly. “I don’t know about here, but in my world, sacred places aren’t for murderers.”

“Enough of this,” Haldir told her. “We will go through the forest if I have to drag you. I’ve done it before, no?”

Silently glaring, she urged Fingo on. “Wait,” Haldir called out. “This forest is no place for horses; the undergrowth is far too thick.”

“What are we going to do, just leave them?” she asked, appalled. She’d grown stupidly fond of Fingo; she was not going to send him away.

“They will meet us on the other side of the forest, Palarran, they know what to do.”

The set of his jaw told her that he would not be argued with. She dismounted grudgingly and fixed Fingo’s tack. She slipped his bridle and reins from his dark head and tied them securely to his saddle. “I will miss you,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his velvety nose. He flipped his lip up in response and huffed in her face. She felt a smile tug at her lips, the first genuine happiness she had felt since—her face fell again and she turned from the horse, her hand going to the dark stain on the seam of her cloak.

Haldir and Orophin had similarly secured Sirdal and Celeroch. Before they parted with the three horses, Haldir ran a slow finger down Celeroch’s nose and then reached up to whisper in his ear. The dappled horse blinked intelligent, liquid eyes and bowed his head, then turned to leave. Sirdal and Fingo fell into step with the stallion and together the three trotted away, out over the fields of Rohan.

Aubrey felt a tremble run through her as one more precious link to who she had been before— _before_ —left her with a whisk of his long black tail.

She did not speak as she followed to two elves across the short stretch of grass separating them from the looming trees. She found herself remembering the similar walk she had made to Lórien all those months ago, only then her aching feet had been bare and she had been clad in nothing but soaking pyjamas. And yet—despite being alone, despite her discomfort, she had been filled with a sense of hope she was beginning to fear that she would never feel again.

A shadow fell across her vision and she looked up, craning her neck to see the tops of the trees. They were not nearly as tall as the great mallorn in Lórien, nor as broad of trunk, but they had the same aura of power. This power, though—this felt different to the Golden Woods. Where Lothlórien exuded protection, comfort, the joy of new life, these woods felt almost sinister.

 _I am not welcome here,_ Aubrey thought, and knew it to be true.

“I can’t go in there,” she murmured. “I’m not supposed to.”

Haldir looked back at her. The shadow of a tree limb darkened one half of his face. “You will be alright, with us. The trees here . . . they are the oldest trees in Arda. Long ago, the elves woke them. They slumber now, yet aware they remain. Also, ents live in this place. Perhaps they were trees once, or perhaps they were always separate. In all events, they are asleep also.”

“What is an ent?” she asked, not without fear.

“Tree-herder,” Haldir said.

Orophin smiled wryly. “While the shepherds slumber, the flock has grown wild.”

“We must go on, Aubrey.” Haldir said firmly.

Aubrey was not sure where she found the will to move her feet, but move them she did. She stepped into Fangorn with all the uncertainty she had felt when she’d first entered Lórien. Immediately, the world darkened. The trees grew thick and close, their branches knotted and woven together into a thick, matted canopy that allowed only the barest glimmers of light down to the ground.

“It’s so _dark,”_ she observed.

Orophin huffed. “You should see Eryn Galen,” he muttered.

Despite the lack of light, the undergrowth grew so thick that even the two elves had to mind their step carefully. Burrs and briars caught on her legs and cloak and with every step the thick, musty-sweet scent of crushed dead leaves filled the air. A large, dusky moth careened drunkenly into her hand, leaving a smudge of dust on the ball of her thumb.

After the strong, bracing wind of the open plains, the thick forest felt unnaturally still. Aubrey felt as if every breath was an imposition. The branches above her head creaked and groaned as they shifted. It was not long before she was certain that every noise whispered _murderer_ to her.

She could not shake the feeling that she _should not be here—_ that there was no place in this ancient, primordial wood for a murderer who had abandoned her brother, who had no home to leave behind. _I am a kite without strings, and everybody knows what happens when kites are blown into trees._

Haldir lead them unerringly, seeming always to know exactly where he was going, though it all looked the same to her. The lack of light was disorientating; they could have been walking for an hour or a day when Aubrey noticed what she was being led towards. Before them, in a relatively open area, stood a tree a little shorter than the others. Its trunk was twisted and gnarled, but the thing that drew Aubrey’s attention was its leaves. Autumn was slowly covering Arda in its cool touch and though most of the trees in Fangorn still had their full complement of leaves, they had darkened and curled, beginning to burn red-gold or brown.

This tree, though—an ash—was covered with bright, pale green, spring-fresh leaves. Yet oddly, it was also crowned with blood-red, autumn berries.

“Is that . . .” she trailed off, uncertain. The forest made her doubt herself at every turn.

Haldir nodded. “That is an ent. He slumbers.”

He gestured her forward until she stood beside the—creature. “Can it hear us?” she asked.

“ _He,”_ Orophin intoned. “In a manner of speaking. Haldir—are you sure?”

The older elf nodded. “Place your hands upon his bark,” he instructed.

Aubrey frowned. “What?”

“Just do as I say,” he said patiently.

Feeling utterly foolish, she did so. The bark was cool beneath her palms and had a pleasingly rough texture. “What am I meant to be doing?” She demanded.

The two brothers exchanged a glance and nodded. Orophin’s expression was worryingly fortifying. “Close your eyes,” Haldir murmured. “And _feel.”_

They stepped forwards and each placed a hand over hers, Orophin’s right upon her left and Haldir’s left upon her right. Their free hands rested on the ent’s bark. She felt an odd tingling where their skin touched, and then realised with a jolt that the feeling came not from the elves’ skin, but the _ent._

Her eyes drifted closed. She had the strange sensation of being immersed in hot water, ripples of heat going over her skin, and then suddenly her knees gave out, and she screamed. It was as if her head had been rent apart, as if someone had sent an electric current through her brain and every single on her her synapses was on _fire._ Haldir and Orophin’s hands tightened around hers but they did not let go, instead held her sweat-slicked palms to the rough bark.

The forest was in her mind and it was surely killing her. _Why is Haldir doing this to me?_

Perhaps even more terrible than the forest, she could sense Haldir and Orophin on either side of her. She had heard the word _fëa_ before and she knew academically that it translated to _soul_ or _spirit._ Knowing that, though, was nothing to what she felt now. She was surrounded by the heat of twin suns, twin stars beating down upon her, blindingly bright. Their fëa were beautiful and terrible. _If you look at an angel,_ her grandmother had once said, _you will be blinded by his radiance._

Long, agonising minutes went by before she realised that she did not actually hurt. The expansion of her mind had been brutal, but not harmful. Life thrummed beneath her palms—the ent’s life, and the life of the entire forest. She could feel every single tree and plant as if it was an extension of herself, as if she was part of one extended organism that never ceased. She knew without having to be told that this was what the elves felt every time they touched the bark of one of the great mallorn. How could they fail to love the forest when it was as much a part of them as their own parents?

Fangorn was not Lórien, though, and these trees were not parental. They felt her intrusion, and they abhorred it.

 _Mortal._ She felt the word hissed through her by a hundred thousand spirits, with more vitriol than Haldir had ever summoned. She sensed, however, that the forest did not hate her for _who_ she was, but for the unfamiliarity of her. It was just as wary of Orophin, she could tell.

She pushed past the wall of unease, and nearly wept at what she found there. The forest was _singing._

The words were a part of her, now, and she knew them instinctively.

_From the Mountains tall to the Limlight falls,_

_We weave our song through earth and tree._

_No life shall cross these lands without_

_The shelter of our arms._

_No note shall ever we discord,_

_Lest we leave the land to harm._

_From the Mountains tall to the Limlight falls,_

_We weave our song through earth and tree._

_From the Mountains tall to the Limlight falls,_

_We weave our song in harmony._

 

The song was like a soothing balm on scarred flesh. She sang the song of Fangorn with the forest, her voice cracking and out of tune. She felt the words take root within her as surely as any plant and she felt the vast relief of it. Finally, after those days of wandering aimlessly through her fog of despair, cast adrift without Evan to be her purpose, she had a firm link and tie.

Haldir and Orophin withdrew their hands and the song ceased instantly, as if someone had jerked headphone out of her ears. She jolted away from the ent and stumbled to the ground. “I could _feel_ it,” she whispered. “I could _hear_ it.”

Haldir crouched beside her. She saw that his hair was damp with sweat and his chest heaved. His skin was tinged sickly grey. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Orophin was similarly exhausted. “What’s wrong?” She asked. She felt invigorated by the experience.

“Whilst we—hear that every time—we contact the forest—it is—not easy—to open the pathways of the forest—for a mortal,” Orophin gasped. “We used much energy—to show you.”

She blinked, surprised. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I feel—I think I feel okay now.”

A broad grin stretched across Haldir’s tired face. “I knew it,” he panted. “I knew this would help you.”

“How did you know?”

“After—the Dagorlad,” he said, slowly regaining some of his usual colour. “I was—the same. I know what you—felt. That you had—severed a link . . . with your people. I felt the same. Connecting with Lórien was what helped me.”

Aubrey reached for the leather thong about her neck and drew out her cello-peg necklace. “Thank you,” she said again, running the pad of her thumb over the engraved letters _E_ and _A._

“You are most welcome.”

“The name you gave me,” she said slowly. “ _Palarran.”_

He nodded. “It is called an _epessë.”_

She bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at Orophin. He had his back to them, and seemed to be dozing off. “Could—could I give one to you?”

Haldir’s eyes widened. “I . . . I would be honoured.”

She smiled; it felt magnificent to smile again. “Then I name you _Freoða._ It is Old English, the ancient language of my home. I studied it.”

“What does it mean, Palarran?”

“Protector,” she translated. “Or Guardian.”


	25. Chapter 25

When you drive out to Whitby, that busy little town nestled into the crack between two towering cliffs, gripping the crumbling edge of North Yorkshire, the first thing you see of the town is the North Sea that lies beyond it. It is not the stark, crumbling abbey or the twin piers, not the archway made from the jawbone of a whale, not the crescent of white-faced hotels. The grey-blue mass of the sea stretches out before you as soon as you crest the moors, vaster than anything else in England. Aubrey knew the journey like the back of her hand—it was a second home to her, or a first one; so many memories were contained in that place. The curious thing about it—if the day is clear and the sky is blue, you can be staring at the sea for miles before you realise that it is not simply more sky.

That was the way Lórien appeared to them—a gold-green smudge blending in with the grass, merging so well with the plains that it was not until they were close enough to make out individual trees that Aubrey realised she had actually been watching Lórien for nigh on an hour.

Even as she thought about Whitby, she looked at Lórien and thought  _home._

The horses seemed heartened by the familiar sight of their home and increased their pace, breaking into an easy trot. They had met with the horses on the far side of Fangorn, just as Haldir had promised. Fingo had greeted her eagerly, butting his head up against her like a cat. She sensed that he had missed her—not just when they had been parted by the thickly overgrown, obscure pathways of Fangorn Forest, but in the long days before when she had begun to slip away from herself.

Autumn was well into the valleys of Middle Earth and the grasses on the plains of Rohan had begun to slowly brown and fade. The trees around Imladris had already been touched by the slow burn of autumn when they had left, red-gold stealing through the woods there, but the mallorn of Lórien were unmarked. There was a great and beautiful contrast caused—the mallorn retained their gold-tinged green leaves, whilst all the other trees around them, oak and birch and ash and elm, brightened into fierce reds.

Before them, a great gate parted the trees. A smooth, cobbled road led away from it; Aubrey suspected it was the same road that they had taken to first leave Lórien. She looked up at the canopy as they approached, looking for movement. Such an obvious, open route into the Golden Wood would surely be guarded by a unit of Haldir's wardens, but she could not spot so much as a leaf moving out of place.

Nevertheless, the familiar feeling of being watched built as they rode up to the gate. Aubrey looked up just as Orophin, who was at the front of their party, reached the gate. Sure enough, she saw the shadow of a warden crouched in the branches of the tree above, an arrow at his bow string. She couldn't see anyone else, but knew that there would be a full unit in the trees around them. Feeling faintly mischievous, she raised a hand and waved at the crouched warden. He lifted a brow in response, looking faintly put out to have been spotted.

Haldir drew her attention with an amused cough. "At least I know that you have become more observant," he said archly. He looked up and spoke in Sindarin, slow enough for Aubrey to catch the words. " _Reveal yourselves,"_ he bade the wardens.

They emerged like silent shadows, some stepping from behind the broad trunks of the surrounding trees, some dropping soundlessly from the branches above, until there were upwards of twenty elves around them, clad in the grey-green cloaks of their office. The elf whom Aubrey presumed lead the unit bowed his head to their party. " _Well met, Marchwarden,"_ he said. " _It is good to have you home."_

" _My thanks, Nólaquen. Have you tidings for me?"_

" _None,"_ the elf said. " _The woods have been quiet in your absence."_

Haldir nodded his head in satisfaction. " _Good. You will excuse us, our journey has been long and we are weary."_

The elf—Nólaquen, Haldir had named him—inclined his head in acquiescence. Without another word, the unit of wardens melted back into the forest. Haldir rolled his shoulders and dismounted with a sigh.

"Brother?" Orophin looked back, puzzled.

Haldir shortened Celeroch's stirrups and pulled the stallion's reins forward. "I merely wish to feel the ground of my home beneath my feet once more. Too long have I been away—and Celeroch has carried me far enough, have you not?" the grey horse whickered in apparent agreement.

His idea struck her as a good one, so Aubrey slid from Fingo's back. Her boots made a muted thud on the cobbles beneath her feet, and with that percussive she was welcomed back to Lórien. She had the odd feeling that she had simultaneously never left and yet had been away for years. She wished that she could connect the Lórien the way that she had to Fangorn, but it felt like too personal a thing to demand of Haldir and Orophin.

They walked on in silence, each of them savouring the feeling of being beneath the familiar, comforting canopy. A pair of redstarts followed them through the trees, calling out to one another every few seconds. The birds would leave them behind when they entered the more dense forest; they preferred the open, outer edges of the wood where oak and birch dominated the canopy. A gentle breeze shifted the orange-tinted leaves of the beech tree above her and the sun glimmered through.

"Back in my world," she said, "I never really liked autumn that much. The fog comes down onto the moors so you can't go walking as much, and the days get shorter and shorter. Eventually, you wake up and go to bed in darkness . . . it can get you down. The trees are beautiful, I guess, but in the end they're still dying leaves. Evan—Evan used to love autumn. Well, I suppose he still does. He loves carving pumpkins, and fireworks, so it's about his favourite season. Here, though—will the mallorn leaves fall?"

"Not in autumn," Haldir told her. "They will fall in spring, when they are replaced by a new season's growth."

She smiled, reaching out to trail her fingertips across the nearest mallorn's silvery bark. "It'll be nice to see that. I didn't realise quite how much I'd missed this place."

Orophin smiled approvingly. "We all miss our home when we are away from it," he said.

His words rang true within her.  _It was not until I left you,_ she thought,  _that I realised how much I have come to love you._ Though the words were silent, she had the distinct feeling that the forest heard and understood her nonetheless.

o0o

Ilye and Rúmil were waiting for them in the stable yard. Ilye shrieked when Aubrey rounded a gentle bend in the path and ran forwards. Delighted, Aubrey thrust Fingo's reins into Haldir's hands and ran to meet her friend. They met in a laughing tangle of limbs, hugging each other fiercely.

Aubrey buried her face in her friend's shoulder, revelling in the silken feeling of Ilye's hair against her cheek. "I missed you," she whispered.

Ilye squeezed her ribs. "I missed you too. It's not the same without you here, you know. I had to resort to Rúmil's company."

Aubrey looked up, chuckling, expecting Rúmil to offer an affronted reply, but the ellon was too busy greeting his brothers. She watched them interact, oddly touched by the enthusiastic way in which Haldir and Orophin greeted their youngest brother. The brothers' voices overlapped into a glorious harmony—they were the perfect trio, Haldir's baritone rounding out Rúmil's tenor and Orophin's bass. They spoke so quickly that Aubrey could not determine much of what they said, but she smiled at the lyrical rhythm amplified by three.

Ilye's arm tightened around her waist and the elleth tugged her away. "Come on," she said. "They will not pay attention to us now that they are reunited. Let us get you settled in your home, and you can tell me all about your journey and what you have learnt."

Aubrey made to turn away, then stopped. "Just—I just need to sort out Fingo."

The dark bay gelding stood patiently beside Celeroch, cropping the grass at the side of the path. She led him into the centre of the stable yard and paused. After all that she had been through with the horse, she didn't know which stable to place him in.

An elf approached her, a soft smile on her youthful face. "I will take Fingo," she volunteered, holding her hand out for his reins.

"I'd rather sort him out myself," she retorted.

The elf raised a pale eyebrow but nodded and gestured to the left wing of the stable block. "His is the third box," she said.

Ilye followed Aubrey as she led Fingo through the wide double doors. He seemed content to be home, flicking his ears forward and whickering softly. "The elves who work the stables would have seen to him," Ilye remarked as Aubrey led him into the third box.

Aubrey shrugged, beginning to untack the steed. "I owe it to him to look after him after everything he has done for me."

They did not speak again as she untacked Fingo and then rubbed him down until his coat was dry and smelt of sweet straw. She moved around to his big head and scratched him beneath the chin in the manner she knew that he loved. "I will have to come and visit you," she murmured, and pressed a kiss to the centre of his soft, whiskery nose. "Thank you for everything."

With a last scratch beneath his forelock she left him to eat and rest. All of her energy seemed to leave her quite suddenly as she latched his stall.

Ilye observed the sudden slump in her posture and linked their arms together, offering her some small support. "I have an idea," Ilye grinned. "I will fetch us both clothing from my talan, and then we shall go to the bathing pools. You can tell me everything whilst you rest and get cleaned, I am sure you have missed soaking in hot water."

Aubrey certainly had. The layer of grime on her skin had become a constant presence, and she had almost forgotten what it was like to not smell of sweat and horse. Even more than that, despite the healing influence of Fangorn and the soothing aura of Lórien, she still felt as if the Dunlanding's blood clung to her skin.

"A bath would be very welcome indeed," she agreed.

Ilye nodded decisively. "In that case, I shall meet you at the bathing pools."

o0o

Aubrey slipped into the steaming water with a long, grateful sigh. The water was just a little hotter than she would have been comfortable with, but when contrasted to the cool forest air it was ideal. Cloudy with minerals that benefited the skin and did something towards preserving modesty, the water was perfumed with a chalky scent. It reminded Aubrey of talcum powder, or Sudocrem.

She pulled her hair free of its tangled braid and teased the strands apart. It was disgusting, almost gluey with grease, but already the steam from the pools worked to soften and cleanse it. She felt the heated water loosening and relaxing muscles sore from sleeping on the ground and long days in the saddle.

She settled onto the natural rim that created a seat within the pool and stretched her legs out in the water, her head lolling back to rest upon the smooth rock lip of the pool.

"May I join you?"

Aubrey shrieked and her eyes flew open. Galadriel herself stood at the edge of the pool.  _God,_ she thought, trying to calm her racing heartbeat,  _I am cursed to be surprised by elves at these damn pools._ She nodded wordlessly and averted her eyes while the elven matriarch stepped out of her trailing gown and eased herself into the pool.

It was a large space, Aubrey estimated that it had a diameter of at least ten metres, but nakedness has a way of making people feel closer than they are. Even the long weeks on the road with two men had not quite eliminated her sense of modesty, and looking upon a naked Galadriel, even if she was submerged in cloudy water up to her shoulders, felt like an act of heresy. Aubrey was reminded of the Greek myth where a mortal man happened upon Artemis bathing in a pool in the woods.  _She turned him into a deer and his own dogs ripped him apart._

Aubrey drew her legs up to her. She had a feeling that Galadriel's awesome presence would always make her slightly nervous.

"Tell me about your trip," Galadriel invited her.

Several things ran through her head in that moment.

_I killed a man._

_I am dead._

_I do not think that Haldir hates me._

_I connected to a primordial forest and it changed me._

"Glorfindel is very beautiful," she said.

Galadriel laughed. It was a glorious sound, a beautiful sound. "Yes, he is. He spent a lot of time with the Valar and their radiance lives within him."

"Have you spent time with them as well? You're pretty . . .  _radiant."_ Aubrey observed.

Galadriel smiled approvingly. "You feel the power of my ring,  _Nenya._  I made . . . many great mistakes when I was young, dear Aubrey, for my pride and folly was great. I am proud, however, of my actions with this ring. It isNenya, combined with my own power, that protects Lothlórien, as surely my wardens do."

"I can't imagine you making many mistakes," Aubrey blurted.

The elf smiled benignly. "My power has always been great, as, I flatter myself, has been my beauty. But young I was once, and though wise I now am, wisdom is begat in mistakes and born in bloodshed."

Aubrey's head spun at her lyrical, meandering speech. "If it helps," she said slowly, "I think you do a very good job as a ruler."

"You are very kind, child, but I did not come to you so that we could discuss my relative merit or failure. I wish to hear about your journey."

So Aubrey related her adventure. She told Galadriel about the long, cold passage over the Misty Mountains and the fearsome storm that had sent them cowering into a roughly hew waystation. She recalled the beauty of Imladris and the welcome they had received her, and then, reluctantly, her words slow and painful, she told of what she had learned there.

"Eruanna told me that she died," she said softly. "It seems that I died too."

Galadriel nodded severely. "This I have seen."

"That's what I would have seen in your mirror," Aubrey realised suddenly. "That's why you wouldn't let me see!"

"It cannot be certain what you would have seen," Galadriel reminded her. "I merely knew that it was not your time to look. Would you like to look now?"

Aubrey bit her lip and considered it. "I don't think so," she said. "I can't think of anything that would be worth knowing."

 _Not even the wellbeing of your brother?_ Whispered a quiet, sly voice in the back of her mind. She quelled the thought ruthlessly.

"Very well," Galadriel said. "There is more to your story."

"Yes," Aubrey mumbled. Behind her, the underbrush shifted and she whipped around in time to see Ilye shove her way into the clearing, carrying a pile of clean, fresh clothing. The elleth's eyes widened when she saw Galadriel sharing Aubrey's pool, but at a signal from her ruler she quickly set her bundle down, undressed and slid into the pool.

Aubrey flashed her a quick smile and, at a prompting glance from Galadriel, went on. "We met three men—humans. In Dunland. One of them was badly injured and Haldir stopped to help him. That night, we camped with the men. One of them—one of them put his knife to my side in the night. He wanted to rape me, to kill me." Her voice hardened and she said bleakly, "I killed him first."

Ilye's face was pale with shock. "How did you—"

"I am glad that you were not harmed," Galadriel interrupted gently. "But please go on."

Aubrey took a deep, fortifying breath. "I felt awful about it," she said. "I felt so guilty about killing him and I was so full of grief . . . I can never see my brother again.  _Ever._  Eventually . . . eventually Haldir seemed to lose his temper with me moping. He took us through Fangorn forest. He and Orophin showed me an ent and put their hands over mind on his bark. I  _saw_ the forest, I  _felt_ it and I heard it."

Galadriel nodded. Aubrey got the sense that the elleth had been waiting for her to say something in particular, and she had just said exactly that.

Sure enough, Galadriel stood up, droplets of water cascading down her pale form like diamonds. She stood before them like Botticelli's Venus, painfully beautiful and utterly aware of the fact. Her hair fell in dark, wet curls around her, sticking to her ribs and her breasts. Aubrey blinked stupidly for a second before she quickly looked away. Galadriel laughed lightly at her embarrassment. There was the rustle of clothing and when Aubrey glanced up once more, Galadriel had wrapped her dress about her like a long shawl.

She inclined her head to Aubrey and Ilye. "Enjoy your re-acquaintance. It is wonderful to have you back in Lórien, dear Aubrey."

She walked away, gliding over the forest floor. Aubrey wasn't sure whether to sink down into the water in shame or burst out laughing herself.  _I think,_ she thought to herself, remembering the jewel-bright drops of water glistening upon the elven ruler's creamy skin,  _that I might be jealous of Celeborn._

o0o

The clearing was quiet in the dead of night. The twin statues that guarded the mirror cupped their bowls of flickering fire, providing silent, watchful judgement to the figure that stole into the clearing.

The intruder was glad in a long, dark cloak that entirely obscured their face and form; even the lady of the wood would not have recognised them as they crossed to the magic-imbued spring.

The jug vibrated in the hands of the figure as they filled it; for this was not the mirror's mistress and she was not there to allow this intruder passage. The mirror did not take kindly to being forcibly viewed, to being viewed without  _permission._

The intruder went against everything in the mirror's magic. It was  _wrong._

The figure walked to the basin and emptied the silvery water into the container, dropping the jug and letting it bounce carelessly across the floor. They pulled back their hood, exposing a triumphant smile.

The intruder leaned across and peered into the vessel. The intruder froze, hands tightening on the cold, stone edge of the pedestal. Finally, after almost a full hour of gazing into the forbidden mirror, the intruder jerked backwards, gasping.

The figure sank to the floor beside the fallen jug, and wept.


	26. Chapter 26

"I have a surprise for you," said Haldir.

Aubrey smiled easily. It felt good to be back in the familiar setting of the training field. She loved the post-training ache in her muscles and the thrill of learning new things never died; she'd missed their lessons, all told, and she was eager to get back to them. The only thing that had noticeably changed was Haldir; he'd greeted her with a smile and seemed pleased to see her.

"What is it?"

His eyes glittered. "Swords."

She lit up, all but bouncing in place. "Really?  _Really?"_

"Of course," he smirked. "You have demonstrated the required fitness and dexterity during our travels. Unless, of course, you would prefer—"

"No! You're not taking this away from me. I want to sword fight."

He inclined his head, a small smile playing about his lips. He reached down to where his sword hung easily at his hip and for a timeless moment, his long fingers simply rested upon the pommel. Then he drew the sword in one smooth, controlled motion and laid it flat across his palms. "This sword was made for me in honour of my promotion to the position of Marchwarden," he said. His voice was soft, almost reverent. "It is of the highest grade of steel infused with mithril, forged by an elven smith who trained in Gondolin."

"Why do you carry it around everywhere?" she wondered. It had always seemed impractical for him to bother lugging around a surely heavy weapon within the heavily guarded realm.

He ran a hand lovingly along the centre of the blade where a groove marked the metal. "It is a sign of the respect and trust that is placed in me as Marchwarden," he explained. "To be without it would be to disregard my position."

"So it's like a . . . like a uniform?"

He frowned, considering. "Not entirely. It is . . . by bearing this sword, I bear the sword of every warden there ever has been and ever will be. Everyone who has ever been injured or—or died in service to Lórien; they live on with me and this sword. It marks my commitment to them and my commitment to the Wood. It is as much a sign of my respect for the realm and my position as it is vice versa."

Aubrey thought of red poppies pinned to lapels and flags folded carefully over the graves of American soldiers, and she understood.

Symbolism aside, the blade was  _beautiful_. It curved slightly, seeming to follow a more natural line than the swords she had seen preserved behind glass cases in museums. The leather-wrapped hilt was studded with silver, presumably to improve the grip. Instead of an equal cross-guard, there was a curved guarding bar that extended further on one side than the other.

"What does it say?" she wondered, seeing that flowing tengwar script followed the slight curve of the blade.

"There is my name," he pointed it out, and she memorised the shape of his name in his own language. "And here is my title. But here, this is a . . . a wish for my safety, I would say. It says, ' _Guardian of the Marches, Watcher of Evil, this blade will guide you through the darkest of horizons.'_ It is named  _Curmegil_."

Aubrey smiled; she could recognise the meaning of the name. "Sword of protection," she translated. "Rather appropriate for Freoða."

He pursed his lips. "Thank you. But this is not merely a history lesson, Palarran, I am showing you one of the most important things about swordplay."

"Oh?" she flushed slightly, embarrassed she hadn't caught onto what was clearly meant to be a fairly obvious lesson.

"Of course. You must respect your blade and that of your enemy. If you do not, you would be as well holding a willow switch."

She nodded, accepting the gravitas with which he spoke. A thought occurred to her and her lip quirked. "Does that mean that I get my own fancy sword?"

He snorted indelicately and sheathed Curmegil. "Hardly; it is a prodigious and expensive gift that you will have to  _earn_ —if you ever do. No, for you I have a training blade."

He indicated that she was to follow him and he led her over to one of low, ground-level huts that served as changing rooms, sparring centres and store rooms. The dimly lit room turned out to be an armoury of sorts. Aubrey drew in a deep breath, finding a great satisfaction in the combination of the earthy, musky scent of the air and the harsh, sharp scent of steel.

Racks upon racks of swords and bows hung within the store room, varying drastically in size and quality. Expecting Haldir to head to the racks of swords that hung upon the far and left walls, Aubrey was confused when he instead began to rummage in a large chest. He frowned as he sifted through the chest, eventually grunting in satisfaction when he found what he had been hunting for and withdrew it. He held in his hands two wooden staffs the approximate size, shape and length of his own sword. They had rough approximations of grips and guards, though were not nearly as beautifully crafted as the innumerable metal swords around them.

"What's wrong with the actual swords?" she asked.

He raised a delicate brow in her direction. "Absolutely nothing, if you wish to be injured."

"Can't we just be careful with them?"

"You will not learn unless you are hit," he said, matter-of-fact. "I would prefer not to do the hitting with edged blades."

Declaring his reasoning sound, she accepted the pseudo-handle of the 'sword' he handed her. She huffed in surprise and flexed her arm. "This is a lot heavier than I expected."

Haldir smiled slyly. "Not nearly so heavy as the real version."

They walked back out into the early morning sunshine and took the centre of the field. Haldir slowly unbuckled the red leather belt his real sword hung upon and set it carefully on the ground away from their space, and then took up his wooden stave.

"Hold it this way," he directed, nodding when she copied his grip. "That is good. In swordplay, your footwork is as important as the way you use your sword. You must think of it like a dance, one that you must learn. You must anticipate every move your opponent will make and make them before they do, for if you are ever a step behind then you will fall."

She nodded attentively, hefting the stave in her hand. "I used to sword fight with Evan," she said. "We had wooden swords as kids."

"Oh? Palarran, you did not tell me you were already an experienced swordswoman." He grinned.

She narrowed her eyes at his mocking. "I remember exactly how it went when I told you I was good at archery. I just mean that I remember vague ideas about whacking my brother."

"Well," Haldir shrugged, "perhaps that is a good beginning so that I may gauge your skill and potential. Have at it, Aubrey— _whack_ me."

She lunged forwards, aiming the heavy wooden blade at Haldir's own sword. She remembered countless mock-battles with Evan and had seen enough adaptions of Zorro to be fairly content with sword fighting; she knew that there would be intricacies to learn, but at the end of the day, it was surely only hitting the other guy's sword with your own?

Haldir allowed her to whack at his blade for a few moments before he stepped forwards and with a deft, sharp movement that passed lightning-fast before her eyes, her swords was twisted out of her hand and bounced across the floor at her feet. "Oh," she said.

He was staring at her, a bemused expression on his fair face. "What were you  _doing?_ " he asked.

"Whacking you," she said, faintly peevish in response to his incredulous expression.

"No," he frowned. "You were whacking my  _sword."_

She blinked. "Well, yes. I've seen the films, I know how it goes."

"Aubrey—Aubrey, you cannot simply hit your opponent's blade with your own. What does that hope to accomplish?" he seemed entirely baffled by her approach.

"Well," she said, frustrated, "that part's never really clear in the films. They whack at each other's swords a bit and then suddenly whoever you're rooting for knocks the other bloke's sword out of their hand and then they talk and—" she broke off, taking in his nonplussed expression.

"You are meant to aim at  _me,"_ he said. His words were very slow and accented, as if he was addressing a child. She bristled at his tone, but his eyes were open and patient.

Grudgingly, she picked up her fallen 'sword'. "Well, it seems obvious now that you say it, but I've never thought of it like that before."

He shook his head and smiled fondly. "Try to strike me with your sword in any way that you can, whilst I try and deflect you, yes?"

"En garde!" she cried, and lunged forwards once more. He laughed at the bizarre expression and began to easily deflect her blows. It was not long, however, before she began to see a pattern to how they were moving; when she moved forwards and swiped at his side, he would step backwards and raise his sword to block her, shoving her backwards. She narrowed her eyes and raised her sword to the right, bringing it towards his ribs. When he shifted backwards, she whipped her blade around to the left and quickly tapped his side.

"I did it!" she cried, hopping up onto her toes.

He chuckled and stepped away from her sword. "That was an impressive feint for a beginner; I may be impressed if you can do it again."

"You let me hit you, didn't you?" she accused him.

He shrugged. "Of course I did; but I may say quite honestly that you have natural talent with the sword, far more than you do with archery. Or hand-to-hand combat. Or horsemanship."

"Alright," she interrupted him quickly. "We'll leave the dismal list there."

"Once more," he said. "And this time, I will not let you score a hit so easily."

o0o

Aubrey left the training ground with a spring in her step and an intense ache in her muscles. It seemed that she really did have some innate talent for swordplay and Haldir had pushed her accordingly. It had been euphoric to finally pick something up easily, in a way that physical activity had never really come to her. History had always been her strength, the intricacies of Nordic alliance systems and treaties falling into her brain as soon as she read them, but games and sports had always left her head spinning—this, though, this was  _natural._ The sword felt like an extension of her arm and she knew instinctively how to move, her fight light and quick on the floor. It had been  _easy._

She grimaced when she recalled Haldir's response to that particular observation. He'd made her face him and then, without any warning, he had come at her with his real skill. She hadn't even seen what he did, just felt the blast of air as he swept towards her and the silver arc of his hair when it flew out around him, and then her sword was on the floor once more and so was she, ribs aching from where he'd struck her with the flat of his 'sword'.

"Do not be complacent," he'd warned her sternly, standing above her with the sun behind him turning each of his hairs into a burning silver filament. "I have been using a sword for over four and a half thousand years and any concession I allow you is just that." He had softened then and given her a hand up. "The creatures you will fight will not have my expertise but they  _will_ be skilled. A cocky disregard for that skill is dangerous."

She rubbed at her side ruefully; she was sure there would be a large bruise there in the morning.

Her talan was a welcome sight after the morning of hard work. Gratefully she slipped inside and crossed to the sink set into the wall of her rudimentary kitchen. She cupped water and splashed it over her face and neck, revelling in the cool, cleansing feeling.

Behind her, a stifled chuckle filled the room.

She whipped around, wishing for the façade of protection offered by her training sword if nothing else. Her heart pounded in her breast and she saw again vivid blue tattoos and a hoarse voice in her ear.

Rúmil stared innocently back at her. "Aubrey?" he called, sensing her reaction.

She gulped down a breath. "Don't sneak up on me," she snapped. "Especially don't sneak up on me in my own home."

"When may I sneak up on you, then?" he asked. His voice was light and teasing, and it calmed her.

She glared at him but the heat was gone from her words. "Preferably when I have a sword in my hand," she told him.

He smiled knowingly. "Yes, Haldir told me that he planned to finally teach you the sword. How did it go? You are in one piece I see, is my brother?"

"He's fine," said Aubrey. "But I did manage to hit him a few times!"

"Most excellent." Rúmil smiled. "Now, I am not here simply because I enjoy lurking in the deserted telain of women, but because Orophin and I have realised that now you know of how you came to be here, you have a noticeable gap in your day."

"What do you want?" she asked, brows raised.

"Dear lady," he said, falling into an extravagant bow, "will you accompany Orophin and I to the banks of the Celebrant for a small meal?"

"A picnic?" she laughed. "Why are you and Orophin going on a picnic?"

He scowled at her probing. "I am going on a picnic because Ilye is going on a picnic and I fancy her very much. Orophin is going on a picnic because this feeling is lamentably unrequited and she will not go alone. You are going on a picnic because Orophin will need someone to talk to whilst I woo the fair lady."

She felt laughter bubbling up within her once more. "Why not ask Haldir?"

"Haldir?" he sounded as if he had never heard the name before. "Haldir does not do picnics, dear Aubrey. Even ones that include you. Besides, can you image the scene? Sweet Ilye surrounded by the three brothers? It would look like some kind of escapade; I will do most things—" here his gaze swept her lasciviously, "—but I have no desire to share with my brothers."

"Okay!" she cried. "I will come. Just let me change.  _Without_ you here, Rúmil, God; how are you going to convince Ilye you like her when you spend every moment together staring at my breasts?"

He left, his laughter hanging in the air behind him.

o0o

The Celebrant bubbled over rocks in the shallow swathe of water they had chosen to settle beside. The riverbank there was sandy, seeded by dry grass that provided a comfortable place to sit.

Rúmil had provided a picnic basket, filled mainly with wine, but also small rolls of cake and sweet bread. They shared the food out between them and sat swapping stories of their time apart.

"Rúmil offered to assist me in my research whilst the three of you were away," Ilye said. Aubrey noted the warm glow in her friend's eyes when she looked at Haldir's youngest brother, and concluded that perhaps Rúmil's suit was not quite as unrequited as he feared.

"Did you find anything interesting?" Aubrey pressed, leaning forward with avid interest. As good as she might be at sword fighting, research had always been her true passion and it was research that captured her imagination; she had missed the quiet sessions with Ilye in the library.

The elleth nodded avidly. "Yes, we did! There has never been another mortal to cross into this world from another and Eruanna and Glorfindel remain the only other two to have returned from their death, but the more that we researched the more parallels I began to draw between you and the Istari."

"Who are the Istari?" she asked, blank.

"Maiar they were, sent to Arda on the orders of the Valar to assist us." Ilye said. "I know that you are not Maiar, but much of their purpose seems aligned to what the Lady has seen of you."

Aubrey motioned for her to continue, taking a small sip of the fragrant wine.

"When you first you came, the Lady said that you would have a great purpose here, yes?" Rúmil said. His voice was for once serious, and he sounded rather like his oldest brother. "The Istari appeared at a time of great suffering and evil and they were a great force of good in this world. I would not suggest that you have this power but you too have come at a time of peril. Evil stirs in Dol Guldur and for the first time in two thousand years, our borders are truly threatened. Just as this occurs, here you are, from your far off world."

She frowned, confused. "I thought Galadriel had just meant for me to be useful here," she said. "I didn't think I'd have some great—destiny, or something."

"The Valar would not distort time and reality to bring you here from your world, Aubrey, just so that you could be an archivist, or a warden. You  _must_ have a greater purpose in this realm."

Orophin's words rang with finality and she swallowed uncomfortably. The only greater calling she had ever been comfortable with was guiding Evan through his life. "I feel like Hermione," she muttered. "I just want to do my thing, not save the world."

"I doubt it shall come to all that!" Ilye laughed. "Things are not so desperate and dire; the great evil has been defeated at the end of the last age."

Aubrey allowed herself a smile. "As long as I can use a sword in this destiny," she grinned. "I  _like_ being good at sword fighting."

o0o

Haldir walked along the forest floor, his hand resting upon Curmegil's pommel. He was pleased and proud with how well Aubrey had taken to sword play the day before, especially given her general lack of innate skill in the other disciplines he had taught her. Perhaps it was because they were a better unit, now, both eager for the lessons and the time together.

The city was quiet around him, dawn just touching the forest. He liked to walk in the early hours of the day when all was cold and quiet and still. For a single, wild second, he imagined that Aubrey,  _Palarran,_ walked beside him, sharing in the silence and the beauty. Short weeks ago the idea would have disgusted him but now he found it worryingly appealing.

He allowed himself a smile, feeling as if he was about to jump from the highest tree in the forest with nothing to break his fall. He felt the thrill of the anticipation and fear, the thrill of going against what he should be doing. He imagined the disapproval in his father's face and his brow furrowed. He couldn't tell whether he was enticed by the disapproval he knew he would face or repelled by it.

His hand tightened on Curmegil's pommel, that symbol of everything that he should be, was meant to be, and he resented it for a second before he shook his head and cleared the nervous thoughts.

High above him, unnoticed in the canopy, a figure watched his struggle and was filled with rage.


	27. Chapter 27

Aubrey sat down heavily, her training sword thumping to the ground beside her. She blinked, surprised, and looked up at her assailant. Haldir gazed down at her with unconcealed mirth, his own training sword balanced jauntily in his hand.

"How did you do that?" she demanded, rubbing at the back of her knee where he'd just struck her.

"You left your guard open when you went to stab at my shoulder," he said casually. "That leaves me able to duck around your blade and attack you from behind. I chose to utilise the weakness in your knee joint and threw you down." He extended a hand and pulled her up beside him. "An orc would have cleaved you open from shoulder to hip," he said softly.

She shivered, affected by the vivid mental image and their close proximity. Their newfound friendship was rapidly developing into an uncomfortable problem for her—now that she had none of his old animosity and cruelty to repel her, there was nothing to curb the effect of his otherworldly beauty. She found herself staring at him, mesmerised by the curve of his back and the slant of his broad shoulders. And his  _face;_ angelic, perfect, male. Da Vinci would have exalted him; Michelangelo would have seen his face in stone and carved to set it free. Just then, as she had fallen, she had thought not of how best to correct the fall but of how stunning his silver hair was when it arced with his movement, and how soft it would feel beneath her hands. She shuddered and pulled away from his touch.

It was an unusual sensation, this attraction. Never before had she felt such instant, such visceral attraction to someone. There had been men, before, back in her world; men that she met and thought handsome, men that she saw across crowded bars and was stirred by, but never before had she looked at someone and thought so bluntly, so artlessly,  _I want to have sex with him._ And she did—she wanted to see what happened to the arch of his spine when he was bent over her naked body, wanted to see his well-muscled abdomen, so impressive even covered with clothing, flutter with his release. She  _wanted_ him, and it almost scared her. She was by no means unexperienced, but all of her previous encounters with men had been just that—with  _men._ Not elves, immortal and wise and  _perfect._ She might have hated him, if not for the way his eyes lit up with the morning sun.

"You are improving well," he told her. "Soon, we shall have to use real swords. They have the true balance these cannot achieve and you will be safe to use them before long."

She flushed with pleasure. "Thank you," she said sincerely, and he inclined his head.

"Come," he invited her.  _Oh, I want to,_ she thought, and pursed her lips to hide her laughter. "We're done for today, I think."

She nodded that she was ready to stop and followed him over to the armoury building. They stowed their 'swords' in the dim room and left the training area together, neither breaking the silence.

This had become a ritual for them since they'd returned from their journey. After their training session, they would take a short walk through the forest, often to the Celebrant and back, and he would offer her extra tips for her training in return for stories from her world. She would have thought nothing of the walks—she had similar conversations all the time with Ilye, Rúmil and Orophin—but for the fact that they had begun to walk closer and closer, and often they would pause as they went deeper into their discussion, standing alone in the forest for long, intimate minutes.

"When you have your own sword," Haldir said, taking the less-obscured path to the right, "it is essential that you care for it well."

"How do you mean?" she asked, ducking beneath a low hanging branch. The moss on the branch was scraped away in one area where she had not been so observant once, and had whacked her head against the bark.

"You must clean and oil the leather of the grip, to stop it from peeling and cracking," he said. "And the blade must of course be kept sharp. Sharp enough to split a hair, and the nicks ground out."

"They're a lot of work, swords," she muttered. "I can see why we went on to guns—mind you, they take even more work, if we're to believe the Americans."

He looked back, confusion etched across his face. "What are guns? You have mentioned them before."

"Weapons from my world," she said. "They're a bit like bows, in that they shoot a projectile, but guns shoot small pieces of metal at a much faster speed. They can go through any armour, practically, and a bullet wound is almost always fatal. They're killing machines."

Haldir's eyes darkened. "They sound like abominations," he murmured. "I am glad of their absence here."

She smiled softly. "They're pretty useful in wars," she argued, but her words were half-hearted, for she agreed with him.

"It should never be easy to take a life," he said firmly. "You should know this, of all mortals."

She stiffened and clenched her jaw. "Yes," she said tightly. "I know it well." She saw that he had not meant to upset her and relaxed, reaching out to run her fingertips over the damp, feathery tops of the ferns and brackens that covered the ground. "Gunpowder, the thing that makes them work, was invented for fireworks," she said. "And they are beautiful."

"We have fireworks," he said. "Or at least, the humans and hobbits do."

She wrinkled her nose. "I was never fond of them—far too noisy. Evan . . . Evan loves them, though."

His hand went to her shoulder for a brief second, squeezing comfortingly. "I know that you still miss him," he murmured.

"I think I always will," she said.

"If you would like," said Haldir, "we can try to find some way to send Rúmil away and have Evan in his place."

She laughed, shocked at his words. "Haldir!"

"What? I have brothers to spare, and it cannot be denied that he is the more irritating." He grinned, unrepentant.

She snorted. "Not that you have a favourite brother."

"I love them dearly and equally," he said, with as much dignified sincerity as he could muster whilst chuckling. "I am simply aware of who was the last one to irritate me; Orophin had no part in  _losing_ a dagger of mine."

She laughed again, remembering the outrage on his face when he'd discovered the dagger gone a few days past, and the sheepish gleam in his youngest brother's eyes. It was these moments, she realised with a jolt, that she had come to value more than any other—the laughter, the conversations, the quiet walks. She realised that it might be more than sex that she wanted from Haldir, and that, she reflected, was the truly terrifying thing.

o0o

Galadriel knew that something was wrong the minute she entered the clearing. The jug that filled her mirror lay half into the spring it should have sat beside, as if someone had replaced it hastily; the mirror itself was off centre on its carved podium.

She stiffened, reaching deep within her mind for the link she held to the forest and all its living inhabitants. It did not take her long to find the familiar, beloved tenor of her husband's mind—he was in his study, she saw, rereading a letter from their son in law.

 _Meleth,_ she called out to him.  _I need you._

She felt his alarm, his urgent worry for her surging through his mind, and she smiled fondly, shaking her head.  _There is no danger,_ she reassured him. Already he was on his way to her, striding swiftly from their talan and down the long stair.  _Someone has trespassed upon the mirror._

She let the link fade, knowing that he would come to her. She set to righting the sacred clearing as she waited, carefully re-positioning the mirror. She saw with horror that the jug's polished, rounded surface was dented, as if it had been dropped upon the floor.

Rage filled her then as she stared at the damaged relic. There were no boundaries around her clearing, no guards for her mirror, for no elf had ever before sought to take the knowledge of her mirror for themself. She offered freely her wisdom and the use of her mirror to those in need; if this trespasser had come to her with their question she would have done everything in her power to answer them.

"Galadriel?"

Her husband's voice was a gentle as the warm hand he placed upon her shoulder. She turned into him, her hands gliding over the marred silver jug. "Someone forced the mirror," she whispered. "Someone—someone has been here and viewed the mirror without me. They have  _damaged_ it.  _Betrayed_ me."

Celeborn's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Do you know who?"

"I . . . I do not know where to begin," she confessed. "Where is my wisdom now?"

Celeborn crouched beside her and took the jug from her hands. He ran a slender finger over the dented surface. "Someone of the wood," he said softly. "No other could it have been."

"For anyone else entering Lórien would have been halted by the wardens, and I would have felt the intrusion," she finished his thought.

He nodded, setting the damaged vessel in its rightful place. "There will be an explanation," he said soothingly.

She nodded, staring into the depths of the black-watered spring. "There always is."

o0o

When she left Haldir at the edge of the city, heart skipping from the exertion of the brisk walk and everything she had not told him, not  _done_ —pushing him up against a tree to snog him had seemed like a poor life choice—she decided to visit Fingo in the stables before washing and changing out of her sweaty clothes.

The stables were set away from the main city and as such she had a ten minute walk to settle her nerves before she rounded the bend in the cobbled path and saw the long, low wooden building before her.

The stable hand who had greeted their weary procession when they had returned to Lórien nodded in greeting and directed her straight to Fingo's stall; it was not her first visit to the animal.

She thought that he must have been dozing when she ducked into the building that housed his stall, for usually he would stick his head over the half-door of his stable and whicker in greeting when he heard her approach.

What she found instead surprised her. Rúmil was in the stall with Fingo, crouched beside him to carefully wrap his legs. She watched, leaning her weight on the stall door, as Rúmil went about the methodical process of wrapping Fingo's legs. He had completed three of them and now went about wrapping the fourth. After each layer of binding, he smeared some kind of paste or poultice upon the cloth. She frowned, wrinkling her nose at the sharp, herby scent of it.

"Thyme to halt infection, lavender to soothe, sage to reduce inflammation." Rúmil listed off without turning.

Aubrey straightened, startled. "Sorry," she said reflexively. "I didn't know he was injured," she went on, worried.

"He is fine," Rúmil said. "A little weary, still, from your journey but no more than to be expected. This is to prevent any illness, not to cure an existing one."

"I didn't realise you knew him," she murmured.

"He is  _my_ horse," Rúmil intoned. His voice was amused, if slightly mocking.

She flushed a deep red, mortified. In her mind, she had claimed the horse for her own, had come to love him on their journey. The idea of him belonging to someone else made her ache with sadness and embarrassment. She felt like a toddler clinging to another child's toy. "I—I didn't know that . . ." she mumbled.

"I told Haldir you could use him for your journey, I do not mind," he said easily. "Come, you can help."

She slipped inside the stall. Fingo's ears pricked forwards and he shifted under Rúmil's hands, stretching his neck out to her. He pressed his nose against her stomach and huffed contentedly. She chuckled, recognising the gesture of affection, and scratched him beneath the forelock with one hand whilst using the other to stroke his long neck. "I've missed you, boy," she told him.

Rúmil shifted on the floor. "Pass me that wrap, please," he said, indicating the strip of pale cloth behind her. She nudged it in his direction and watched, absorbed, as he fitted it around the layer of herb paste he had just spread upon the wrap, checking that it was loose enough by slipping a finger beneath the cloth.

"Thank you for letting me borrow him," Aubrey said.

He smiled, setting aside the poultice and remaining wraps and standing, brushing his hands off. His fingers were stained green. "He's clearly very fond of you," he said. "I was there at his foaling, but he turns to you for affection, you see? Perhaps I am being told something."

Fingo flicked an ear as if in acquiescence and lifted his head to blow hot, sweet breath into Aubrey's face. She pushed him away, laughing. "It would seem so!"

"I think he is not the only creature of Lórien you have charmed?" Rúmil said softly.

She stilled and looked at the straw-strewn floor. "I don't know what you mean," she said tersely.

He grinned then, back to the Rúmil she knew. "I think that you do. And soon, I think that  _he_ will know what I mean."

"Rúmil—"

"It is a shame," he went on, as if she had not spoken. He turned to her with a truly lascivious gaze and looked quite deliberately at her breasts, his eyes widening appreciatively. "I would have loved to have fucked you, just once. I've never been with a mortal and Orophin says it is quite the experience. Did you know, your body temperature is hotter than ours?"

Her cheeks certainly felt warm enough. "I know that I really don't want to compare body temperatures with you."

"Not even once?" he checked.

"No," she said firmly. Her lips twitched; she could not help but find him hilarious.

She left before he could say another word, but just before she left the stable block she heard him speak once more. "I shall have to content myself to call her sister, Fingo."

o0o

Haldir waited gravely within his Lord and Lady's talan.

He had received the message that he was required to attend a trial interrogation had set heavily on his heart, especially after the pleasant morning he had spent with Aubrey followed by the camaraderie of lunch with his brother. Elves were in general a peaceful, law-abiding people, but the horrific events of the kin-slayings so long ago left them wary of any rule breaking at all. Whatever he had been summoned for, no matter how minor, the elf in question would be punished accordingly if they be found guilty.

In deference to the sombre, official mood of the proceeding that would occur, he wore his full ceremonial garb. The normal tunic that he wore about the woods had been replaced by a tight under tunic and a doublet. The doublet was of silver-gold and grey damask, richly embroidered and soft to the touch. About his waist Curmegil hung on a belt of red-dyed, gold-studded leather and a long, crimson cloak fell from his shoulders to his calves; his hair was pulled away from his face into rows of braids clasped back with glittering silver beads and clasps.

He had not worn the full ensemble for nearly two hundred years and the last occasion had been a far happier one—the wedding ceremony of one of his wardens.

Celeborn descended the stairs into the main body of the talan and met his gaze with a nod. The Lord of Lórien wore his own ceremonial clothing; flowing robes of silver tied with a mithril belt. They looked heavy and uncomfortable to move in, but each thread emitted soft light. It was like looking upon the moon.

"I do not relish calling you here for such a purpose," Celeborn said.

Haldir dipped his head. "I am at my Lord's disposal for any purpose I may serve . . . though this, I admit, is not one I favour. What is the charge?"

"Someone has trespassed upon the mirror," the Lord related.

The Marchwarden stiffened, his hand closing on Curmegil's hilt. To trespass upon the mirror was to trespass against the Valar-gifted power of the Lady. It was almost to go against Eru himself. "Have you a suspect in mind?"

"I do."

It was Lady Galadriel who had answered him. She descended the stairs slowly, her head high. If Celeborn was the moon then she was the sun, he thought; clad in robes of shining gold she stood out against the usual silver colouring of the Silvan elves. A circlet rested upon her head, matching the design of Celeborn's belt.

"My Lady?" he questioned, falling into a low bow as he spoke.

He felt Galadriel's hand upon his chin, drawing him up to his full height. She caressed his jaw with the tenderness of a mother and said softly, "I am sorry, my Marchwarden."

He heard the shifting sounds of someone entering the talan behind him and whirled around, confused thoughts flooding through his mind. His heart stuttered at who he saw there and he shook his head dumbly. Her hair was still damp from washing, he saw, and she had clearly rushed to change into finer clothing for the cuff of her left sleeve was endearingly uneven.

"Aubrey Wendale, ward of Lothlórien, called  _Palarran."_ Galadriel said. Her voice was deep with power and well-concealed disapproval. "You stand before us here for doubt has fallen upon your head."

 _No,_  Haldir thought desperately. Celeborn's eyes flicked to where he stood and he realised he had spoken aloud. Aubrey was looking nervously between him and the two rulers, shifting where she stood.

"I don't understand," she said finally.

Celeborn spoke then. "Someone, as yet unknown, went to the Lady's clearing and there viewed the mirror without permission or skill. The vessel was damaged in their actions. This is a grave crime, for it subverts the tranquillity and trust of the Golden Wood, and casts disdain upon the Valar-gifted power of the mirror."

She was trembling where she stood; he thought at first that she was frightened and longed to take her in his arms, before he saw the vicious tilt of her chin and realised that he saw  _fury_ in her eyes.

"I haven't been  _near_ the mirror," she said tightly. "Not since the time I went with Lady Galadriel, before we left for Imladris."

"Have you proof of this?" Celeborn asked calmly.

She was near vibrating with indignation now, but he saw that her eyes began to cloud with the expression he had grown familiar with in the days after the Dunlanding's death. "Do you have any proof of it being me?"

"You have a clear motive," Galadriel murmured. "Your desire to see your brother has always driven you. People have sought the mirror for less."

"It  _wasn't me._ You know that I didn't want to look into the mirror! I refused! Why would I suddenly change my mind—why would I not  _ask?"_ Galadriel made as if to speak, but Aubrey would not abet. "No—no! The only reason that you have come to me first is because I am mortal. If you have to find someone in the wood to have betrayed you, let it be the outsider, am I right? You don't want to accuse one of your precious elves—because then you have to look at them every day for eternity and know that they've betrayed you, you have to know that some of those you rule will shirk your authority." She spat. "Better that it's someone who doesn't belong here—never belonged. At least if  _I_ am guilty you know that I'll eventually  _die."_

" _Enough!"_ Haldir shouted. His grip on Curmegil's hilt was tight enough to whiten the skin on his knuckles.

Celeborn nodded to him and stepped back, taking Galadriel's hand. For a long moment they were silent, gazing into each other's eyes. He knew from the way the hair at the back of his neck stood on end that they were conversing within their minds, but he could not hear. He stared at them, perhaps impolitely, because to look away would be to look at Aubrey and he could not bring himself to do so.

At last, Galadriel dew away from her husband. "We have been . . . perhaps hasty," she said quietly. Haldir felt a vein of pride; it was not any mortal woman who would stand up to the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood and win. "I can feel the truth in your words, dear Aubrey, and I am truly sorry for what I have said. Wisdom we claim, yet wisdom we lacked here."

"Forgiven," Aubrey dared to snipe, and received three wry smiles for it with varying levels of admiration.

"This is not the last of our troubles, though," Celeborn said severely. "Your innocence aside, it cannot be denied that this incident ties dramatically well with your presence in Lórien."

"What are you saying?" she asked of them. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, straightening her uneven cuff.

Galadriel responded, but her eyes burned into Haldir's. "I believe that someone wanted to learn something about Aubrey; something about her presence here, possibly. And I believe that she is in very real danger from someone in this very wood."


	28. Chapter 28

She heard the declaration as if from far away; it registered almost instantly but didn't seem to affect her in any significant way. For when had she not been in danger? Her earliest memories were of taking punches for Evan, sticking up for him again and again even when the aggressor was twice her size and didn't care that she was a little girl.

Lórien was not exactly a safe house either—one miss-step form the towering walkways would send her plummeting hundreds of feet to the ground. Haldir and Orophin had warned her about the ever increasing orc attacks; for God's sake, she was learning to use lethal weapons to defend herself! She had  _killed_ to defend herself, stared her death in its blue-tattooed face and made the choice that  _no_ , she would not be the one to die.

How could she be scared of this threat? It was just one more upon the many and so far what had it done? Looked into a pool of magical water. She would almost have found it funny, if not for the deadly serious expression on the elves' faces.

"I've never been the most popular person here," she reasoned. Haldir's eyes darkened and he made to speak. She cut him off before he could begin, stepping forward. "Haldir, you yourself hated me for a solid month or two, because I was mortal. Is it really such a surprise that someone else would go to more extreme measures against me?"

"We are not a savage people," he said, affronted. "I may not have been welcoming, but never would I have harmed you. The idea that one of us would actively harm you is greatly disturbing."

"But whoever this is, they haven't done anything yet!" Aubrey protested.

Celeborn frowned at her. "They have trespassed on the clearing,  _damaged_ the mirror."

"There is no connection to me except some arbitrary time link," she insisted. "All that I am saying is that assigning me a bodyguard or whatever is perhaps premature."

Galadriel's eyes rose to meet hers. The elven woman had the ability to pin with a single look; Aubrey knew she had some telepathic abilities and it would not have surprised her if Galadriel could read every thought she had ever had simply by staring into her eyes. She shifted, uncomfortable with the bare, naked feeling brought about, but unwilling to break their gaze. At last, Galadriel blinked and looked away. "I would suggest that you return to your life as normal," she said. "If there is indeed some danger to you, then it will reveal itself in time, surely."

Dismissal rang in the elleth's words. Aubrey turned to go, Haldir behind her, when Celeborn stopped them. "A moment, Marchwarden," he said brusquely. Haldir nodded her on, an inscrutable expression in his silver eyes.

She left the large talan and crossed the bridge that separated it from the great stairway. At the top of the stairs, she paused and leant her forearms against the thin, elegantly carved rail. Below her, the city bustled. She watched elves walk back and forth, laughing and calling to each other. They were such a joyous people, always making music. High, giddy laughter reached her from several levels below and she saw a child sprint fearlessly across a walkway. She held a toy sword fashioned from a slender stick and waved it enthusiastically over her head as she ran. She had the appearance of a five or six year old, but was probably into her twenties, Aubrey thought wryly. An elf ran after her, jogging to let her maintain her lead. Aubrey watched him put on a burst of speed and scoop up the giggling, shrieking girl. She kicked her bare feet and waved her sword about, hitting him mercilessly on the head.

Watching the girl reminded her painfully of little Roitar; she had not seen him since the awful night of his father's death and she missed him. Several times she had considered seeking out the angelic child but after what had happened she couldn't stand to intrude upon his family.

Below her, the elfling flipped out of the ellon's arms. " _Súlio, Súlio! Where is Ada?"_

The elf, Súlio, shrugged theatrically. " _I do not know. Shall we find him? Shall we find your Ada?"_

" _And Nana!"_ The child enthused.

Súlio picked her up and set her on his shoulders. Together they walked away, the child cheerfully drumming her 'sword' against the ellon's head as they went.

She could not watch the joy elves found in children, the delight they had in the forest and each other, and believe that one of them—one of the very people she watched below her—wished true harm upon her.

She was not blind; she remembered well the disdain and cruelty Haldir had shown her in those first weeks but he had never harmed her, even after Celedan's death when both of them had been raw and furious.

This had to be some misunderstanding. Galadriel and Celeborn had already mistakenly thought that she was the one to have viewed the mirror; surely they had to be wrong about the motives of whoever was truly guilty. She did not know what it would do to her if one of them really, honestly meant her harm.

A flash of red moved in the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Haldir descending the steps of the grand talan. His face was ashen and he would not look up. She had admired the fine clothing he wore when she had first entered Galadriel and Celeborn's talan, but now she hated the scarlet and silver ensemble for what it signified and the way it stole whatever remaining colour he had.

"Haldir?"

He paused beside her, his face turned away that she could only see the edge of his nose and the soft touch of his eyelashes against his fair cheek. "Do not discount whatever danger you may find," he told her. His voice was soft and distant. "I know what it is to suspect them and it is difficult for me as well. But I would rather wrongly suspect my brethren than see you hurt."

"Haldir—" she said again, but he was gone, jogging quickly down the stairway away from her, his cloak dancing about his legs.

She watched him go, conflicted confusion upon her face. She hated to even think it, but his words had reverberated with real, genuine worry—worry for  _her._

o0o

As soon as he had left the Lord and Lady, Haldir did what he had always done when turmoil raged through him and answers evaded him. He sought out his brother.

Orophin was in his talan, tending to his myriad of plants. Haldir had never had the time to care for so many potted plants, but he always appreciated them when he visited his brother. He ran his hands over their textured leaves, letting their gently benevolent presence calm him slightly.

"Brother," he greeted.

Orophin hummed in acknowledgment. He was stood by the window, his hair plaited away from his face. His tunic sleeves were rolled to the elbows and he was wrist-deep in potting compost. "I will be with you in a moment," he said. "I will just finish potting up this lobelia."

He transferred the aforementioned plant as he spoke, setting it into a wide ceramic bowl. He worked in methodical silence, patting soil around the newly situated plant and brushing stray dirt off the beautiful purple flowers. Finally, he poured a generous amount of water over the plant and turned around, brushing his earthy hands against his breeches. "What can I do for you, brother?"

"I—" Haldir broke off for his voice was not as steady as he would have wished. "Someone has broken into the Lady's clearing and viewed the mirror without sanction."

Orophin's eyes widened. "What? When was this?"

"Last night, surely. Lady Galadriel discovered it this morning."

The younger elf studied him. "There is something else," he said. Haldir didn't know whether he was relieved or horrified at Orophin's perception; he knew that if he began to talk he would not stop until his brother knew everything.

"There is . . . I . . . the Lord and Lady believe that Aubrey is in danger," he whispered.

Orophin nodded for him to continue. "From this trespasser?"

"Indeed. The very idea that someone of the Wood, one of us would hurt her—I cannot bear it! I want to send her away for her safety and yet at the same time keep her always in my sight." He said tightly. "I don't know . . ."

"You don't know?" Orophin gave him a look of such wry indulgence that for a moment, the two thousand years between their ages melted away. "Haldir, it is not secret that you care for her. We all do."

"Care for her, of course. She is my friend, we have grown close. It is not that which troubles me," he emphasised. "It is the idea that one of  _us._ One of our brethren, possibly, one of the elves of Lórien has such malice within them as to harm her."

"Why do the Lord and Lady believe that Aubrey is targeted?"

The Marchwarden frowned. "This disturbance happened the very night that she returned from Imladris. The timing is simply too coincidental."

"Now—I know that you are going to be angered—but is it not possible that Aubrey herself was the one to look in the mirror?" Orophin said hesitantly.

Haldir shook his head impatiently. "The Lord and Lady believed so, at first," he said. "But she denied it and there was truth in her words, I felt it."

"Then I fear you must be right," Orophin murmured. "Eru," he said, "to break the sanctity of the  _mirror._ "

"Whoever has done this has clearly lost their wits," Haldir said severely.

The slighter elf nodded. "Let us hope that they come to their senses before any more harm comes. As precious as the mirror is, I would rather it be damaged than Aubrey."

Footsteps thudded upon the walkway outside Orophin's talan and the brothers turned around just in time to see the door burst open. Rúmil stood there, his sides heaving with exertion. "Come quickly," he gasped. "It is Aubrey."

o0o

Aubrey made her way back to her talan slowly, taking the time to observe every elf that she came across. Most of them were indifferent to her, but many stopped and smiled at her, or murmured a greeting in Sindarin. They had become neighbours if not acquaintances, as familiar to her as most of the people she had known in her old home. As she stared at them, she could not help but wonder,  _are you the one? Is it you who targets me?_

The doubt was poisonous, until she shied away from the smiles and greetings. She could not bear to meet their friendly eyes knowing that any one of them could wish her harm. Was this what Evan felt, she wondered? The constant uncertainty of not knowing who to trust was oppressive.

Her talan was a familiar, comforting reprieve. She let the door swing shut behind her and pressed her palm to her forehead, taking a deep, steadying breath. She walked slowly through the small house, pausing in the panty to pour herself a cup of the gorgeously refreshing elderflower cordial Ilye had gifted her with upon her return to Lórien.

Toeing off her boots she ambled into her bedchamber.

The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, elderflower cordial soaking her feet.

She screamed.

o0o

Haldir stormed through the city, his brother flanking him at either shoulder. After Rúmil's hasty assurance that the mortal was unharmed, his panic had lessened, leaving way to a cool anger.

"I was walking by with Ilye," Rúmil said, hurrying his stride to keep up. "I heard a scream and then Aubrey ran out of her talan; she was crying and seemed very distressed. Ilye stayed with her and I came to find you."

"Have you any idea what happened?" Orophin asked.

Rúmil shook his head. "None."

They did not speak again as they walked. People parted before them, hurrying from their path. It was only later that he would dryly consider what people would think of seeing the Marchwarden and both of his brothers tearing through the walkways of the city centre. A younger ellon gave a hesitant, uncertain half-bow as they passed and Haldir realised that he was still wearing his ceremonial regalia. He brushed the thought aside and hurried his steps.

When Aubrey's talan came into sight he saw her huddled on the very edge of the flet, one leg folded beneath her and the other trailing off into thin air. Ilye sat beside her, a comforting arm around the distraught girl.

"What is it?" he demanded, halting his brothers with a raised hand. "Are your harmed?"

Aubrey looked up, eyes bleary and red. "No," she said. "I was just a little—shocked."

"By what?"

"Bedroom," she murmured, jerking her chin for him to enter.

He left the talan door ajar was he slipped inside, steeling himself for whatever he might find. His boots crunched on broken glass when he entered the room; she must have dropped a drink when she saw the state of the room. Her bed was drenched in dark crimson. He wrinkled his nose, anticipating the scent of blood, but none came. He stepped closer, curious, and dipped his fingers into where it had pooled within the sheets. He rubbed the liquid between his fingers and thumb; it was thin and slightly chalky in texture.  _Madder root dye._ Someone had wanted Aubrey to think that her bed was drenched in blood, but had not been able to kill anything to produce the required threat. He frowned; he could not untangle the motives of this attacker.

The drawers and cupboards had been turned out, Aubrey's clothes lying in red-stained heaps upon the floor. Papers littered the ground, he saw that they were covered in writing, the letters of both the common tongue and tengwar overlapping. This was her and Ilye's research, he realised, ripped up and shredded.

The most disturbing thing was the wall. In foot-high letters, the word ' _leave'_ had been daubed upon the wood with the madder root dye. Beneath that imperative a sheet of yellowed paper had been pinned to the wall with a dagger. He strode over and snatched the note, ripping it free. Upon it was written,  _every day that you do not leave, one more will be harmed._ There was a list of names below the message: Ilye, Orophin, Rúmil, and his own.

Haldir crumpled the paper in his fist and strode out of the building. He thrust the paper into Orophin's hands and whirled to face his youngest brother. " _Clean it up,"_ he ordered in their native dialect. " _Use whatever wardens you need."_

He stooped beside the two women and touched Aubrey lightly upon the shoulder. "Come with me," he urged her softly. She stood, dream-like, and followed him. Elves stopped to stare at them as they passed, murmuring softly amongst themselves about what could possibly have happened. Some of them had evidently heard about the earlier trial for their words and eyes were suspicious. For the first time, Haldir was glad of her limited grasp of Sindarin.

Aubrey did not speak until they reached their destination: his talan. She looked up at the large, intricately carved building and her eyes widened with their usual bright curiosity and admiration.

"Come in," he urged her. Unlike the simple, one chambered design of her talan, his own was built upon three levels and had numerous spare bedrooms, most often utilised by his brothers.

He saw that she was limping when she walked into the talan, and when he looked down at her bare feet was horrified to see smears of bright red on the floor. There was no mistaking this for madder dye. "Your feet are cut," he observed.

She shuffled over to a chair and held her feet out before her, watching the slow well of blood from soles of her feet and between her toes. "They say twice is co-incidence, three times a pattern," she mused. "If I end up with bloody feet again around you we could almost call it 'our thing'."

"Will you permit me to tend to your feet, this time?" he asked.

She smiled. "Well, since you've asked nicely this time."

He left her sitting in the chair while he fetched a bowl of warm water and a clean, soft cloth. She flinched slightly when he picked up her ankle but did not resist when he ran the cloth over the abused skin. "You're lucky there's no glass embedded in your foot," he murmured.

She hummed in quiet agreement. "It wasn't blood, was it?"

He stilled for a second. "No." When he did not immediately continue, she reached out and prodded him in the shoulder with her toes. "It was a dye made from the root of the madder plant. How did you—"

"I know the smell of blood," she said flatly.

He continued cleaning her feet gently, washing blood and dirt from them. "I will find who did this," he promised her softly.

"Damn right you will," she grumbled, then flinched again. "Tickles," she said to his curious look.

Smirking now, he ran the cloth over the same part of her foot. She shrieked, kicking water up into his face as she struggled. He laughed in astonishment, blinking water out of his eyes. "Such gratitude she offers me, when I have offered her my home!" he mocked.

She frowned. "Offered me what now?"

He rose from his position kneeling at her feet and walked over to the same chest he had taken the bowl and cloth from, retrieving lengths of bandages. "Until your talan is set to rights, you are welcome to stay here," he said. Only a few weeks ago, he would have phrased it as a command, and she would have duly refused.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

He bandaged her feet in silence, his swift, efficient hands betraying how often he had bandaged wounds. "I must meet with my brothers," he said, rising once more. "You are welcome to anything in my talan, if you are going to stay here. I will see you tonight."

Before he could leave, she stood and wrapped her arms around him, ducking her head against his chest. "Thank you," she murmured into his doublet.

He tightened his arms around her once before he released her. "I will see you later," he said again, and left her to explore his home.

o0o

As much as she would have liked to be outside, the newly-bandaged cuts on her feet limited Aubrey to padding slowly around Haldir's talan. She had found her way into what looked like a store room. Trunks were stacked about the room, most of them covered in a thin layer of dust. Aubrey did feel slightly guilty about the invasion of privacy, but she was an archivist at heart; her  _job_ was to poke in dusty old holes to see what she could find. A room full of trunks was just too much temptation. And Haldir  _had_ told her that she was welcome to anything.

She heaved upon a wooden chest, wincing when the lid thudded against a box behind it. Within the box were folded clothes; on the surface not the most exciting discovery but when she lifted out a tunic she saw that it was a child's shirt. She smiled widely; the small garment was adorable. The left cuff was frayed and a grass stain marred the collar. She wondered who the tiny tunic had belonged to before she noted looping tengwar script circled the round neck. She squinted to read the script, realised as she did that whoever it had belonged to was probably at least a hundred years old. She made out the letters and smiled;  _Orophin_ was repeated around the collar. She imagined the tall ellon wearing the tiny little tunic and laughed, delightedly.

Digging further into the trunk, she uncovered numerous treasures. Miniature toy swords lined the bottom, varying from sticks stripped of their bark to perfect replicas of blades carved from wood. There was also a wooden figure of a horse and numerous sets of small clothes, some of them bearing the names of the three brothers. Near the bottom of the trunk she discovered a thin book roughly bound in green leather.

She lifted the book out and opened it to the first page which bore the inscription,  _For Rúmil, from Haldir._ As she flipped through the book she realised that it was a children's story. Each page bore no more than a sentence and above that a beautiful picture illustrated the words. From what Aubrey could gather, the story—about an elven knight who discovered a fair new land and settled there with his brothers and their trained stags—had been composed and illustrated by Haldir himself.

She felt such a strong surge of affection for the elf that she nearly dropped the book, realising as she did so that if it had been made when Rúmil was a child, it was over two thousand years old. She hastily replaced it and shut the chest, releasing a cloud of dust into the air.

Deciding that she had trespassed long enough upon Haldir's privacy, she retreated to the main room where he had treated her feet. A book lay upon a low table in the centre of the room—could she call it a coffee table when elves did not seem to drink coffee?

She grimaced when she saw that the book was written entirely in tengwar, but settled in to read it anyway. She needed the practice, and the book would keep her occupied until night feel upon the Golden Wood.

o0o

Dark had fallen before Haldir finally returned to his talan. He, Rúmil and Orophin had worked tirelessly to try and discover the providence of the note but to no avail. Rúmil's suggestion to try and trace the handwriting of whoever had written the note had proved to be entirely unhelpful as they had quickly realised that handwriting could be concealed as easily as by swapping hands in which the quill was held.

The note had been written in tengwar, widening the field to every elf in Lórien, and whilst the word 'leave' had been painted using Westron letters such a simple word could have been composed by someone with even the most rudimentary knowledge.

They had gone on working until the candlelight began to strain their eyes, determining to look once more in the morning. Haldir was anxious to return to Aubrey for her nervous state earlier had worried him.

He need not have worried, he saw as he quietly opened his talan door. She sat curled up in his favourite chair, her bandaged feet tucked beneath her. She was reading the book he had left upon his table, an account of the Dagorlad that Lord Elrond had written. Glorfindel had lent him the book when they had travelled to Imladris. He was enjoying the book; Elrond had been there unlike many of the scholars who wrote, so he did not abandon the horrific details as many were want to. Haldir shuddered, shaking himself out of age-old memories. That battle was behind him now.

"Good evening," he said softly.

Aubrey looked up sharply. "Oh! Hello. Did you—did you find anything?"

He sighed, finally— _finally—_ ridding himself of his ridiculous formal cloak and doublet. He sank into a choir opposite her in his shirt and breaches, rubbing a knuckle over the bridge of his nose. "We did not. But we will, do not fret."

"I'm not really  _worried_ anymore," she said thoughtfully. "I guess I was in shock earlier. This isn't the first time someone's wrecked my stuff or threatened my loved ones. I got a lot of rub for sticking by Evan back home."

He swallowed, trying to ignore the way the words  _loved ones_ reverberated in his chest cavity. "Your talan should be fit once more in a few days. The madder dye is proving difficult to remove."

"I'll help tomorrow," she said sheepishly. "I'm sorry I wasn't more use today, but my feet—"

He waved her off. "No one expected you to help today," he said. "In fact, I think that if anyone had tried to insist you help, Ilye would have thrown them from the flet."

A smile touched her lips. "I appreciate you letting me stay, I really do. I . . . I was looking around. A little bit. I found that book you made for Rúmil."

For a moment, he was confused until he recalled the story. He smiled broadly, he remembered the long hours he had spent composing the story, inscribing it in his clearest hand, binding it until the instruction of the scribes. "I made it when he was fifteen," he recalled. "He was not learning his letters and when I asked him why not, he said that all of my books were boring him."

"You taught him to read?" she asked, surprised.

Haldir smiled, remembering a stubborn child throwing down his book of reports and stamping his foot upon the pages. "I raised him," he said. "Our parents left for Valinor when he was a baby."

Aubrey shook her head, wonder in her eyes. "You keep surprising me," she whispered. "When I first met you I thought you were just a prejudiced ass."

He snorted indelicately and watched the breath part the flyaway hair on her forehead; they had each leaned forwards as they spoke until only inches separated them. "What do you think now?" he asked her.

Her eyes glittered with mirth. "I think you were a prejudiced ass when we first met . . . but you've learned."

He felt the upholstery on his chair tightened as she balanced a hand upon the arm of the seat, and then her lips brushed against his. Stunned, it was a long moment before he returned the gentle pressure, reaching up to run a hand through her dark golden hair. His other arm slipped around her waist and drew her forward until she knelt with a leg either side of his, straddling him in his chair.

Perhaps, if they were not both weary from a long day of stress after stress, if Aubrey's feet did not ache and Haldir was not preoccupied with wondering which of his peers wanted to harm the woman in his arms, it would have turned into something else, but as it was they simply kissed. It was slow and soft but there was a luxury in savouring, Haldir found.

Just as Orophin had told him with a glint in his eye, Aubrey's body temperature was greater than his. Her hands were warm upon his skin—one cupped the back of his neck, the other curled against his stomach—and her lips were hot enough to sear his. Her lips were dry and rough from being chewed in her anxiety and he soothed them with his, drawing her lower lip gently into his mouth. Her hand tightened in the hair on the base of his skull and she keened softly, her tongue tasting his lip cautiously, tentatively.

He pulled back and kissed the far corner of her mouth and then her cheekbone. "You honour me with your kisses, Palarran, but tonight is not the night for it," he murmured.

She nodded in agreement. "I know. Your hair is very, very soft," she mumbled. "I'd thought it would be."

He stroked a hand through her own hair, a wordless replication. He wanted to fall asleep there with her warm weight pressed against his chest and the softness of her hair beneath his chin, the memory of her lips on his dancing through his mind, but he knew it would not serve either of them to be hindered by a poor night's sleep the next day.

He stood and set her on her feet, leading her up the narrow stairs to the level of the talan that housed his bed chamber and two others. He offered her the room Orophin usually took as it had the nicest view out over the city and was directly next to his own.

"Good night," he murmured, kissing her once more.

She leaned into him for a brief moment then stepped inside the room, leaving the door ajar. He left the door of his own room open and listened to her breath even out in sleep before he let himself drift into a trance.

o0o

_Trespasser._

He resented the title they had given him even as he watched them scramble to undo his work in her talan.

She was the trespasser within his woods.


	29. Chapter 29

Aubrey woke in a series of slow realisations. The first was the growing awareness of the dull ache in her feet. She flexed her toes and had the horrible, sickeningly painful sensation of two edges of a large cut rubbing together. She grimaced and stilled her feet within their bandages. The second realisation came to her as she opened her eyes; the room she was in was larger than her own and of a slightly paler wood; morning light fell across her bed as she was used to, but from the opposite side of the bed. Unfamiliar sheets that smelled of the holly berry soap common in Lórien surrounded her and in a rush she remembered the previous day—the horror of her bedchamber, Haldir's gentle hands on her feet, the chest of Rúmil and Orophin's childhood belongings. Her lips on Haldir's, softer than she would have expected and twice as sweet.

She swallowed thickly and sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that kiss. In an odd way, she felt as if they had been moving towards it since the moment they had met; as if the kiss was simply the next step in some pre-written story. She certainly didn't regret kissing him—would not have taken that step if she knew she would regret it—but in the cool grey light of dawn she was suddenly inundated with every instance in which elven culture had proven dramatically different to human.

She knew, of course, that intimacy was not a strange thing to elves. She would never forget stumbling across Haldir's  _encounter_ with Luriel and nor could she ignore Rúmil's constant overtures towards her. But she had not intended that kiss to signify anything casual, and she did not think that Haldir had either. The gentle pressure of his hand on her hip when he told her that it was not the right time for them had spoken of deeper feeling and future planning.

Deciding that it was foolish to sit there and ponder Haldir's motives and ideas without having even seen him, Aubrey stood and stretched. She had fallen asleep in her tunic and breeches and so changed them quickly before padding out into the hall. The door to Haldir's chamber was shut but she could hear someone moving about on the floor below.

She made her footsteps deliberately loud upon the stairs—it was better to announce her presence rather than dither in the doorway unsure whether to greet him or wait for him to notice her—and met him just as he moved into the main room from the kitchen.

He wore only breeches and a tunic which lay open about his chest. His hair fell loosely around his shoulders and his feet were bare, a detail that she was absurdly charmed by. In one hand he held a cup of tea.

"Good morning," he greeted her, holding out the tea.

She was not thirsty, but took it anyway. She made sure that their fingers did not touch when she took the glass and then felt childish for it. "Thank you."

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her, leaning his weight against the kitchen doorframe.

Aubrey nodded, sipping at the tea; it was flavoured with rose petals and had an elegant taste that she found she enjoyed. She wasn't quite sure what to do with this calm, friendly approach; she did not exactly want him to call her out on kissing him, but she was faintly hurt by the way he seemed to be ignoring what had happened between them. More than anything, looking at the lopsided triangle of his throat and chest, she wanted to kiss him again.

"I thought that we would skip training today and work on your talan instead," he suggested, walking back into the kitchen.

She followed uncertainly, setting the half-full cup down on the kitchen bench. "If you wouldn't mind," she said—and then, reminding herself rather forcefully that it was only  _Haldir,_ whether she had kissed him or not—she grinned and said, "It's not like you to let me get out of training."

He returned the smile. "Well, if you're that eager to be beaten again."

"Working on the talan would be marvellous, thanks," she said beatifically.

He pursed his lips and reached into an overhead cupboard. The motion lifted his loose tunic, revealing his smooth, well-muscled abdomen and Aubrey felt her mouth go dry. "I have fruit or honey cakes," he said, setting a honey cake wrapped in cloth before her and shutting the cupboard.

She helped herself to half of the sweet cake and an apple, finishing them with the last of her tea. "What needs doing in my talan?" she asked him, licking sticky crumbs from her fingers.

"Your bed sheets have been replaced and most of the dye removed," he explained. As he spoke, he walked back into the main room and pulled a pale green over-tunic on. "You need to look through the papers that have been damaged and decide what you want to keep. Mostly, it's the dye on the wall that needs scrubbing out. It's proved—stubborn."

Aubrey swallowed nervously, contemplating a future of living with the word  _leave_ permanently etched onto her bedroom wall.

Haldir crossed to the front door and paused, waiting for her to pull her boots on. Before he could open the door, she stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "I just—thank you," she said. "Thank you for everything."

His silver eyes softened and he clasped her hands in his, squeezing them gently. The gesture was incredibly comforting, and felt just as intimate as their kiss.

o0o

Aubrey braced herself to enter her bedchamber. She wasn't sure exactly how much had been cleaned up and the sight the day before had truly horrified her. Even knowing, intellectually, that the stain was not blood did not make it any less distressing. She had looked at the horrific crimson stain and been instantly reminded of the Dunlanding's blood coursing over her.

She took a steadying breath and stepped into the room. The bed was stripped bare and clean and all of the scattered clothes and papers had been neatly stacked to the side. The madder stain was mostly gone from the floor, leaving behind only faint shadows that were actually quite beautiful in the dappled light that fell through the window, but the wall in front of her was as bad as ever.

_Leave._

The word jumped out of the wood in bright red barely faded by whatever cleaning had taken place. The dye had run down the joins in the wood-plank wall and Aubrey had the sudden and startling impression that the wall itself was bleeding.

She glared at the wall as if it was a personal offender and turned to the piles on the floor with furious determination. Almost all of the careful notes she had made with Ilye had been ripped and splattered with dye. She estimated as she sifted through them that at least half were now entirely illegible. Though it was true that the research she and Ilye had conducted no longer applied, it was still incredibly frustrating for her that she had spent so long on something only to have it ruined. After all, as everyone was so fond of reminding her—humans only had limited time to spend. She resented the waste that someone had made of hers.

"I am so sorry."

The voice was Ilye's, murmured softly from the doorway behind her. Aubrey did not turn but acknowledged the sentiment with a brisk nod.

Ilye came to sit beside her, crossing her slender legs beneath her body. The elleth's hair was entirely plaited back in an oddly human style that made Aubrey ache with homesickness for a second. She had thought that this talan was her home, but she could no longer look at its walls and feel entirely at ease.

"It doesn't really matter," she said finally, setting down the papers she held. They had once been a painstaking translation of some of the Lórien archives. "All of this—it was to help me get home. To Evan. But I know now that I can never go back. It's useless now."

Ilye squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "It does matter," she said firmly. "No one's home should be invaded this way."

"I can't stop thinking about who it could have been," Aubrey admitted. "I can't imagine anyone I know doing this! I thought your lot was meant to be above such petty acts," she said with a small smile.

"I must say it is unlike an elf to do such a thing. I have thought—perhaps it was not an elf?" Ilye suggested thoughtfully.

Aubrey frowned. "I'm the only human here, Ilye."

"Yes, but not the only human in Arda. I know you do not like to think about it, but you  _did_ kill a man of Dunland. It would not be unlike them to seek revenge."

Desperately she wanted to believe the theory, but she could not. "It cannot be them," she said quietly. "There's no way a human would get through the borders without detection—and certainly not all the way to the mirror clearing. And the note—it mentioned you and Rúmil and the Dunlanding would have no idea who you are; plus, it was written in tengwar. No, this is an elf of Lórien." She did not say any more, but she also had the distinct feeling that the men of Dunland would not have shied away from using real blood.

Ilye sagged beside her. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I just—I do not want it to be one of my people who has harmed you. It is against everything that we are to harm another."

Aubrey snorted softly, balling up a particularly damaged sheet of notes. "Come on, elves must be dodgy  _sometimes._ Do you never have murders? Thefts?"

"No," Ilye said baldly. "Only three times have elves spilled the blood of other elves, and these kin-slayings are remembered as abhorrent tragedies. You must remember, Aubrey—we are  _immortal._ If a human steals from his neighbour, takes the life of another—one day he will die and he will be gone. If an elf were to do the same, these crimes would weigh upon them for an eternity."

"But—an elf  _has_ done this," she whispered. "Someone here wants me gone so badly. Look at my wall! No one can get it out; it's seeped do deeply into the wood that it cannot even be sanded away. I would have to replace the whole wall to be rid of it."

Ilye's expression hardened with determination. "I can help with that."

Aubrey frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Wait for me," she said. "I will return in a few minutes."

So saying, she left, her mysterious words hanging in the air behind her. As she waited, Aubrey allowed her mind to drift back to the topic that had occupied the back of her mind all day, from the moment Haldir had said his goodbyes and gone to find his brothers. When she closed her eyes, she felt the ghostly pressure of his lips against hers, the delightful sensation of his warm breath on her skin.

She heard the clatter of footsteps in the main room and Ilye reappeared, heaving a large pail in her arms. "Here!" the female elf cried happily. "I went to my friend, Laitaine, who works as a seamstress; she had just made up some dyes. She has said that we may use this blue woad." So saying, she deposited her pail. Inside was a liquid like thin paint. It was somewhere between turquoise and cobalt and had bubbly-scum sitting upon the top, like poorly mixed powder paint.

"What's . . . what's that for?" Aubrey asked hesitantly.

Ilye gave her a hopeful look. "If you cannot get rid of the stain—make it your own."

Realisation dawned and with a large grin, Aubrey grabbed her friend into a tight hug. "Thank you," she murmured into the elleth's hair. Ilye returned the embrace for a second and then pulled back.

"Let's have at it!" she enthused.

Aubrey dipped a hand into the liquid. It was cooler than she had expected and had an almost grainy consistency. Allowing herself the childish joy of feeling the cold paint on her skin, she traced the word that had been left for her, and made it her own.

Before long, the garish  _leave_ was masked and erased. The wall instead held the motif,  _Golden are the leaves of Lórien._ Though the section of 'leaves' that she had used to cover the previous graffiti was faintly purple, she found herself beaming as she looked at the wall. In a spurt of giddy joy, heady with the feeling of reclaiming her talan for herself, she planted her hand against the smooth wood above the 'n' in Lórien.

"You make a handprint," she said enthusiastically. Ilye obligingly dipped her hand into the dye and placed her own mark above the 'g' of golden. Aubrey studied the contrasting handprints. Ilye's fingers were slightly longer than hers in proportion to her palm, but her hand was smaller overall. "Thank you for this," she said again.

Ilye gave her a cautious, one-armed hug so as not to smear their clothes with the woad dye dripping from their hands. "I would have done anything to cheer you up, mellon nin," she said.

o0o

Haldir left Aubrey to work on the restoration of her talan and sought out his brothers. They had convened in Rúmil's talan as they had the day before, returning to the maps and notes that they had laid out the previous evening. When he walked into the main room of the talan—smaller than his own and Orophin's but bursting with bright, vivid life from the sketches Rúmil pinned on every available surface—he knew instantly that he had to tell his brothers the truth.

"Good morning," he murmured, scanning the work they had already assembled. Before Rúmil was a chart of events, running from Aubrey's arrival in Lórien to the previous day's events. "I must . . . I must speak with you."

Rúmil looked up, surprised, but Orophin's smile was knowing. "I think I may know why," he said.

"Perhaps you do," Haldir conceded. "I—I find that I have feelings. For Aubrey." He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his stilted speech. "I cannot—I do not know quite the—depth. But I know that to see her harmed would harm me."

Orophin nodded. "This has become personal, then?"

He hesitated, his eyes catching on the section of the chart where Rúmil had inscribed in his familiar hand, 'Celedan's death'. He felt the old grief well along with the shame of how he had treated Aubrey at the time. "Yes," he said quietly. "This is personal."

Rúmil hummed thoughtfully, clapping Haldir on the shoulder. "Does this mean that I cannot fuck her?"

He thought about thumping his upstart brother, but could not entirely contain a chuckle at his antics. Instead, he smiled slyly and said, "Only if I may bed Ilye."

Rúmil coloured violently. "Anyway," he huffed. "We have been reviewing every event in the Wood since Aubrey's arrival. Something must have triggered this ill will, no?"

Haldir nodded, regaining his composure. "The most contentious event would surely be—"

"Celedan's death," Orophin finished for him, nodding. He reached out and circled the event on their chart. His quill stuck on the slightly rough paper and a drop of ink scattered across the paper, sinking into the pale surface. "Celedan was a very popular elf, and one of the more skilled wardens. His death was of course a great blow to us all. Even you blamed Aubrey, brother—it is not a great leap that others would too."

"Who are Celedan's closest friends?" Haldir asked.

Rúmil sifted through the paper until he came to a small list. "Here: Nólaquen, Erucalo, Earon, Artulco. They were similar in age and were elflings together."

"What of Meril?" Orophin proposed.

Haldir shook his head. "No, she is too far into her grief to plot retribution, even if she sought it. She is to leave for the Grey Havens within the months. Roitar goes with her. Of those—Nólaquen, Erucalo and Artulco are at the southern border. None of them could have been in the city yesterday or the night before."

"Earon, then? Do we suspect him?" Rúmil asked, his quill pausing beside the ellon's name.

Haldir sank into a chair, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I . . . I don't know," he whispered. "How can I suspect any of them of any wrong doing? Earon is one of my wardens, I trained him myself!"

He surged to his feet and began to pace the length of the room in tight, furious strides. The very idea of accusing one of his own  _wardens_ of harming Aubrey was abhorrent. Equally repulsive, though, was the shocked fear he had felt from her, the slight wince she took with every step on her injured feet.

"How am I to deal with this?" he cried, throwing his arms out to his sides. "I am Marchwarden! My duty is to protect the borders of Lórien from outside attack, not police my own people from some wrongdoing I would never have believed them capable of  _stooping_ to."

Orophin gave him a sympathetic look that nonetheless managed to make him feel faintly ridiculous for his outburst. "You  _are_ Marchwarden," his younger brother agreed mildly. "To my mind, that duty extends to preserving all peace within Lothlórien. This . . .  _situation_ does not sit well with me either, brother, but we can only deal with it as best we can."

Haldir nodded, his face haggard. "You are right, of course," he muttered. "Let us go over this chart once more. I will not accuse Earon until I am certain that he is the guilty party. In the meantime, I wish for your opinion on the matter of posting a guard to the mirror clearing."

o0o

By the time evening fell, Aubrey had decided to simply get rid of all of the papers in her room, even those that had been relatively untouched by the madder dye. She and Ilye had ended up sat side by side on the floor, leaning back against the edge of her bed. As they spoke, Aubrey traced idle patterns on the floor, leaving behind ever-fainter traces of woad dye. The blue was reminiscent of the colour used for the facial tattoos of the Dunlandings and she found it cathartic to take that symbol and use it to paint images from her own homeland.

Around each foot of the bed she had traced Celtic knots, telling Ilye stories of the Celts as she drew. Ilye was endlessly fascinated by tales of her world and delighted in copying the designs herself.

A light rap on the door alerted them to the arrival of Rúmil and Orophin. The two brothers stepped into the room at her nod and cast admiring glances at the transformed wall. "Who's idea was that?" Orophin asked, scanning the script with a smile.

"Ilye's," Aubrey told him. "Isn't it fantastic?"

"Very," Rúmil said quickly. Aubrey did not miss the way her friend's cheeks coloured at his quick praise and she hid a smirk, filing away the blatant attraction between the two.

She stood and pulled Ilye up behind her. "You two have to put handprints on as well," she said cheerfully. "It can be a—a friendship wall."

Obligingly, the brothers dipped their hands into the woad and placed their handprints side by side above the purple-tinged  _leaves._ Aubrey beamed at them, impulsively reaching out to grab the three elves into a group hug. "Thank you," she murmured from where her face was squashed against Orophin's bicep. "I couldn't feel at home here after what happened, but now I do. I can't thank you enough, I really can't."

"You do not need to thank us," Rúmil told her sternly. "You only need to assure us that you are okay."

Orophin tightened his hand on her back. "We will find whoever did this," he vowed.

His voice carried a weight reminiscent of his older brother and a note of regret that such a thing could have happened to her. She had come to view Rúmil and Orophin as the brothers she had always wanted—God and whatever deity ruled here knew that she adored Evan, would have given her  _life_ for Evan—but she had always wanted a  _normal_ brother. In these two elves, she had found that and she was certain they viewed her in much the same way.

In a moment of beautiful synchronicity, they released each other simultaneously. "Come on, my friends," Ilye said warmly. "Let us go to the dining hall."

o0o

The Trespasser—he'd adopted their name, thought of it as his own title now—wore the dark of night like a cloak about his shoulders. He slipped through Caras Galadhon like a wraith, shadows shifting to hide his passage. Surely he had the forest's backing—why else would he move so easily, so seamlessly through the night?

His first plan had not worked. Foolish mortal to ignore his warning, ignore the peaceful and painful way out that he had offered her. Did they know that they had forced him to hurt her? Her merry band of protectors. He had not  _wanted_ to harm her, still did not.

The Trespasser  _would_ harm her, though.

The Trespasser had no choice.


	30. Chapter 30

Aubrey had mixed feelings about moving back into her talan. The new mural upon the wall was beautiful, certainly, and it was nice to be back in her own, familiar bed, but she could not deny that she missed the companionship Haldir had offered her. She knew that whatever was growing between them was far too new for them to move in together; she would not have really wanted to be with him all the time—but she had enjoyed their evening together, despite the unpleasant circumstances.

She sighed, shaking her thoughts away. She'd risen early that morning, an hour before her training session. Far below her talan, dwarfed by the towering mallorn, a rowan tree was marked out by its bright yellow leaves. With every shivering breeze leaves fell like golden rain.

Aubrey rolled her shoulders and pushed away from the window, padding through her talan. She had been nervously anticipating the training session that she would have to go to in an hour—the first training session since their kiss. She wasn't sure if the kiss would change anything between them; she hoped desperately that it would, for she did not think that she could see him platonically any longer—but at the same time, leaving the safe comfort of their growing friendship felt awfully like skydiving without a parachute.

The odd, opposing feelings did not abate even as she enjoyed a small breakfast and dressed for the day, indeed it intensified when she pulled on her boots and headed out of the door. She'd departed earlier than normal and so walked slowly, running different scenarios through her head. She was reminded of people running simulations through computers until they could determine the safest outcome for a particular event.

Though the thought of jumping at Haldir and snogging him for all that she was worth did appeal to her, she had settled on acting exactly as normal by the time she arrived in the training clearing. She was perhaps ten minutes earlier than usual, yet still Haldir was there waiting. He held a sword in each hand and appeared to be training with them himself, ducking and twirling the blades. She watched him for a long moment, her breath caught in her throat. There was a dangerous beauty to him, in his quick-silver fluid moments. He spun around, his blades perfectly parallel to his front and back, and caught sight of her.

"Aubrey," he smiled, halting so quickly that his hair was flung away from his face. "I did not see you there."

"I've only just arrived," she reassured him, walking towards him with measured steps.

He nodded and extended his left hand to her, offering the sword. She took it, noticing as she did that his own Curmegil was sheathed safely upon a bench at the edge of the clearing and the two blades they now held were blunted. She pressed the pad of her thumb against what would have been the sharp edge of her blade; a white line marking the pressure she had applied was the only souvenir the dull sword left her.

"I've been looking forward to trying with real swords," she grinned. Already, she could feel the improved balance of the sword as opposed to the wooden switches they had begun with.

"Then your performance should be better than ever, no?" he grinned. A serious cast fell over his face and he raised his blade. "Now, we will begin with a sparring session; simply come at me as best you can. I will remain on the defensive."

She nodded and watched him take up a defensive stance, his weight shifted onto the leg he set behind him and his sword in front of him. She analysed every inch of his stance, from the exact balance of his sword to the position of his feet. With narrowed eyes, she saw that the clover crushed beneath his feet was slightly flatter upon his left side—there lay his weight. She jumped to the right and slashed at his ribs, baring her teeth in a grin when she almost grazed his tunic before he flicked his blade into her path. A near-hit was by no means a hit, but it was far better than a miss.

"Good," he commented mildly, stepping back. She followed, mirroring his movements. "Though in a real fight, I doubt your foe will allow you so long to analyse his feet."

"You never said—" she grunted, aiming a stab at his thigh that was duly repelled, "—that I had to be  _quick."_

"No," he conceded, jumping lightly over her slice to his knees. "Do bear it in mind, however."

Far from finding his preternatural ability to avoid her blade frustrating, Aubrey revelled in the challenge he presented. This was a dance, a beautiful ballet of push-and-pull, give-and-take, her strikes to his blocks. A light sheen of sweet covered her skin and she was flushed with exertion, but her muscles had grown strong over long months of training and the sword was light in her hands. She saw Haldir's hand shift upon the grip of his sword and realised that he was preparing to disarm her and end the session. Quickly and deliberately, she slammed her sword into his. His grip, still weak as he changed it, failed, and the blade spun from his hand, thudding onto the ground.

For a long moment, Aubrey simply stood, shocked that her plan had worked. A wide grin spread over her face and she punched the air triumphantly, jumping once in her excitement. "I disarmed you!" she cried happily.

He smiled wryly. "So it would seem. That was clever and well executed—I could not have done better myself."

She flushed at his praise and narrowed her eyes. "That's a lie," she accused him lightly.

He shrugged, collecting his sword from where it had fallen. "Perhaps. We go again, but this time I shall take the offense."

She nodded and settled her weight back, preparing to absorb the impact of his strikes. He moved as soon as he saw she was prepared—a curtesy that no orc would offer her, granted, but one she appreciated nonetheless. His first move—a simply slice directed to her midriff—she blocked, throwing the weight of his strike back at him. He nodded approvingly and moved once more, raining blows towards her with a quick and brutal efficiency that was near impossible to escape. Yet still she managed to hold her own, twisting and jumping and ducking, barring his progress with her own blade as often as she could and backing away when she could not. Aubrey estimated that she lasted a good five minutes before finally her defence failed.

Haldir's blunted sword slipped neatly past her haphazard block, thwacking her soundly on the ribs. The wind rushed out of her and she stumbled, coughing. She heard the muted thuds of both of their blades clattering to the floor—hers dropped, his thrown.

"Are you okay?" he pressed. There was a note of guilt hiding within the concern, she thought, and frowned—she would never resent him for striking her during their training—surely, that was what he was there to do.

She nodded, straightening. "Just a little—winded," she gasped, rubbing at her side. There would be a bruise in the spot in the morning, for already dull, aching pain radiated from her ribs, but she could tell they were not broken.

To her immense surprise, Haldir dropped to his knees in front of her, is hand settling on her hip to hold her in place. He met her eyes steadily and then pressed his lips to the spot he had injured. She felt the touch of his lips like a static shock even through her thin tunic. "There," he murmured. "My best effort at healing."

He collected their fallen blades and stood. "You have done well today," he told her sincerely. She nodded, entirely aware of the fact that his hand still rested on her hipbone.

"I managed to disarm you," she reminded him smugly.

He chuckled, drawing her into a hesitant embrace as though worried that she would reject his affection. She wrapped her arms around his waist in turn and pushed her head against his shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow I'll manage to hit you," she mused.

His chest vibrated with silent laughter. "As long as your promise to kiss it better, Palarran."

Her heart thrummed against her ribcage. "Like this?"

She slid a hand into his silky hair and drew his head down, capturing his lips in a kiss. He mumbled in appreciation, the movement of his lips quickly making the kiss far more intimate than she had intended. His lip slid between hers and she sucked it softly, teasing the seam of his lip and the inside of his mouth with the tip of her tongue.

His hand, still on her hip, drew her body closer to his, his other hand sliding up her sweat-dampened tunic until it rested just beneath her breast. His touch was feather-light and teasing, slightly lower than she really wanted it and far higher than was appropriate in public.

She could never get enough of his hair. She ran her fingers through it, rubbed its silken texture between her fingers, carded her short, blunt nails through the short, newly grown hairs at the base of his neck. His lips slipped from hers and he placed kisses across her jawline, as soft as a snowflake melting on her skin.

It was with these gentle, near-worshipful kisses that she came back to herself, reminding herself that they were in a training field in the middle of the city.  _God,_ she thought,  _Rúmil's probably watching us from behind a tree._

She did not pull away, but allowed herself to relax into his arms, resting her head against his sternum. She pressed gentle, barely-there kisses to the cloth of his tunic, mirroring the affection touches he gave her.

She felt his lips against her temple, his warm breath stirring her hair. "Eat lunch with me," he said. His voice was even—far more even than she felt—but she had the undeniable sense that the word 'with' was emphasised.

An activity, together as a couple, before the whole of Lórien. Probably in front of the very elf who wanted her gone.

She squared her jaw. "Okay."

o0o

Rúmil read through the chart he had created once more. He could see nothing more than the most tenuous of links between anyone Aubrey had encountered in Lórien and their mysterious trespasser. Earon had been acquitted of any wrongdoing before he even knew he had been tentatively accused, for Ilye had related seeing him working in the library all through the day of Aubrey's involuntary  _redecoration._

So far, the most likely candidate the four of them had been able to locate had been proven innocent, and the only person with adequate motive who had been present at the time—little Roitar—was a child no taller than Aubrey's waist. It pained him to even consider such things of little Roitar—sweet Roitar, who spent his days collecting flowers for his grieving mother in the hope of making her smile once more.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, almost certainly streaking it with ink again. Ilye had warned him that if he kept up the practice he would begin to look like a badger. He smiled softly at the memory before sinking once more into far gloomier thoughts.

He could simply find no motive for anyone to harm Aubrey. If he were brutally honest about the older brother that he secretly idolised, Haldir had been the most prejudiced, anti-mortal elf in the entire wood before . . .  _before._ Aubrey had changed that. Aubrey had changed so much in the short time she had been with them. Less than a year had passed since her arrival in Middle Earth and Lórien, yet already he could sense the beginnings of true, deep love stirring in his brother.

He smirked, sifting through stacks of paper before him. It was far, far past time for Haldir to find a partner, Rúmil thought; he had been alone for nigh on five thousand years. The very idea of Aubrey leaving them now made his stomach twist, and Haldir was not the only reason. He had come to love the girl in his own way. Despite his frequent advances on her, he saw her as a younger sister. He grimaced at the idea of her ever accepting his advances, or even taking them seriously.

He ran his hand through his hair,  _again._ A slick feeling against his forehead alerted him to the ink that had dripped onto his hand and was no no-doubt smeared across his forehead and through his hair. Ilye would fall over laughing when she saw him.

o0o

Aubrey left the training ground thoroughly flushed, due far more to Haldir's— _attentions_ —than any training. Her lips tingled with the additional blood flow caused by his gentle yet thorough assault and she could still feel the silky texture of his hair between her fingers. God, the way he had moaned when she ran her hands through his hair, scraped her nails softly over the back of his neck . . .

She shook her head and shivered, ramming her hands into her pockets. They had agreed to eat lunch together in the gigantic communal hall, but first she wanted to shower and change her clothes. Kissing the elven man aside, their training that morning had been rigorous and left her tunic plastered to her sides with salty sweat.

A part of her felt incredibly smug that she could apparently incite such desire from Haldir even covered in sweat and dishevelled, but the larger part of her could think only of her approaching shower.

A smile broke across her face when she reached the familiar flet that her talan sat upon. Beneath her feet, the wood creaked, and then she was falling.

Aubrey had a horrific feeling of being weightless, a sickening jolt in her stomach as she fell down quickly, a painful, jolting stop when she managed to grab onto the edge of the hole she had fallen through. She gasped; all the air had been driven from her lungs by the quick fall. Her head spun with terror; she was still comprehending exactly what had happened.

 _The flet collapsed beneath me,_ she realised, panting. A roughly circular area, about the size of a dustbin lid, had fallen away beneath her feet. She had no idea what miracle had allowed her to grasp the edges of the whole, but it had clearly saved her life.

Her talan extended out into open air, perhaps two hundred feet above the forest floor. Far, far below her she heard the sound of the wooden slats that had given way impacting the ground.

Though she had managed to grab the edges of the give-way, her arms were tired from sword training and already strained and shook with the weight of her. The impact had jolted something in her left shoulder and it screamed with agony at every slight movement.

 _I can't hold on for much longer,_ she realised.

" _Help!"_ she cried. Her voice had never been overly loud but now it echoed through the trees. There was no response, and she realised with tears of frustration that most people would be in the dining area, far across the other side of the city.

She grit her teeth and attempted to haul herself forwards. Pain shot through her left shoulder like a lightning bolt and she gasped, nearly losing her tenuous grip. "Help," she called again. " _Help!"_

"Aubrey?"

Her head snapped up. Before her, hesitant and fearful, little Roitar stood upon the walkway before her flet. "Thank God! Roitar, help me!"

He hurried forwards. "What happened?" he asked. His voice seemed more mature than the last time they had spoken—but months had passed, months in which he had lost his father to orcs and his mother to encroaching grief.

"Gave way," she gasped. "—Help!"

The child grasped her right forearm and pulled, but the effect was almost unnoticeable. "I—I'm not strong enough," he cried, falling back onto his haunches. "You're going to fall—and—and—just like Ada—I—"

"Hush," she said, her voice as soothing as she could make it. "I'm not going to die."

"You are; it's my fault!"

Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes.  _I'm not going to die,_ she thought fiercely. "Run, find Haldir," she instructed him breathlessly. Pain and the exertion of holding herself up stole her remaining breath. "He'll be—training grounds."

Doubt flashed through the elfling's eyes before he stood quickly. "Hold on, Aubrey," he told her firmly. "I will hurry."

He spun about and raced away as fast as he could. Only when he had rounded the corner did Aubrey let her tears fall. Rage and impotent frustration coursed through her. Would her final moments have been spent comforting a frightened child?

Her fingers had moved past pain and now felt deadened and bloodless. Slinters were digging into her arms and torso. It was a five minute run to the training ground, five minutes back. Haldir might not even be there when Roitar arrived.

Perhaps it would be better to let go of her own accord? At least that way, it would be an act of her own free will, rather an inevitable concession to the limits of her weakening body.

She forced herself to consider the terror in Roitar's eyes when he could not pull her up himself. She knew with complete certainty that if she fell, he would blame himself for the rest of his immortal life, something which she could not allow. She dug her fingers in further, splitting her nails open upon the splintered wood, and clung grimly on.

o0o

Aubrey's vision was swimming black by the time Roitar returned. Haldir arrived first, sprinting metres ahead of the child. There was wild, uncontrolled panic his eyes. He skidded to a halt at the side of the hole and grasped her beneath her arms. "Hold on," he said, and it was a plea rather than an order. "I've got you. I've got you."

She nearly wept with the relief of it, blood rushing back into her arms when he lifted her, taking her weight himself. He grunted with the effort of holding her body out away from him, not daring to draw her to close until she was clear of the jagged, splintered edge of the give-way.

When Haldir set her down safely upon the firm ground, she sank to her knees, reaching out to enfold Roitar in her embrace. He trembled in her arms for a long moment before throwing his arms around her shoulder and burying his small face against her neck. "You are okay," he gasped, pressing his hands into her spine. "Aubrey, you're okay."

"Yes," she assured him, rubbing his back soothingly. "You saved my life! You brave, brave ellon I owe you everything."

He only sobbed harder at her gratitude but she recognised this as a catharsis for him and allowed him to cry upon her shoulder for as long as he wished.

Over Roitar's head, she saw that Haldir has knelt at the side of the hole and was tracing a fingertip over one of the edges. "What is it?" she asked him quietly.

His eyes were blank and his face was dark with fury. "Only half of this is jagged," he told her softly. "The other half has been cut."

"That means . . ." she trailed off, tightening her grip on the child in her arms.

Haldir nodded bleakly. "The trespasser did this."

She swallowed thickly. There was a great difference between splatters of fake blood and  _this._ She glanced through the whole and shuddered; far below, the slats that had broken away had shattered upon impacting the forest floor.

The trespasser wanted her dead.


	31. Chapter 31

Haldir has tried to insist that Aubrey spend the night once more in his talan. The idea had been as tempting as a cool glass of water in the height of summer but she could not accept it; she could not allow herself to go running to him every time she was scared or assaulted—she had come to care deeply and urgently for him and any relationship they hoped to have could not be built upon fear and dependence. In any case, she had argued firmly, his talan was several levels higher than her own. Who was to say the Trespasser had not similarly trapped his?

Instead, she made her slow and weary way to Ilye's talan. Almost a school room due to her many pupils throughout the ages, Ilye's talan was built upon the lowest of the city's hundreds of levels, a mere five metres or so from the ground. A fall from such a height would be painful, result in broken limbs, but would unlikely be fatal, especially as Ilye's talan shaded a bank of thick, pillowed moss.

Ilye had welcomed her with open arms and a fierce, burning fury in her eyes. "We will find who did this," she had said. Her words were a promise and a threat and exactly what Aubrey needed to hear— _we_  will find him.  _Yes,_ she had thought to herself, anger rolling through her when she imagined someone else happening upon the trap—imagined little Roitar's body broken upon to forest floor— _we will._

o0o

The Trespasser spasmed and shook, hands buried in his hair and throat raw with his cries. He had never felt such desperate hatred such as he felt for himself. He'd watched her fall through his trap, seen the blind panic and  _shock_ in her green eyes from where he'd crouched behind a thick branch a level above her. He could have reached her side in seconds and hauled her up to safety. It would have taken him  _seconds._

He'd nearly broken when Roitar happened upon her, nearly rushed to their aide. He'd had to bite down on his lip and clench his fingers into the bark of the tree hard enough to split the nails to stop himself. He'd whispered his reason for his actions over and over, murmuring it in supplication.

Roitar had run away and he'd been sure that it would  _finally_ be over—that they would be  _free_ —and he would mourn her, of course, would carry her broken body through the city, weeping into her bloodied clothes because he  _did not want to do this._

Haldir came—of course he had, the Trespasser thought with a scornful breath; far be it from Haldir to let any harm to mortal with whom he was so obviously enamoured. He'd watched the  _relief,_ the  _love_ in Haldir's eyes when he cradled the girl to his chest and cold, sick dread had curled within his stomach. He wished that she  _had_ fallen then and he hated her.

He had no other choice left to him. If he could not threaten, could not kill, he would go no further.  _I am not a monster,_ he whispered to the empty, still water in the mirror bowl. He would draw her to him, and tell her face to face.

He had no choice.

o0o

In the end, all of Ilye's plans came to naught. It mattered not what she wanted to do to the Trespasser, Aubrey thought numbly, clutching the thin square of paper in her right hand. It had been folded into an elegant diamond, as fragile as a moth's wing, and left upon the pillow in Ilye's spare room. Inside, four words squeezed shoulders to fit onto the tiny paper.

_Mirror clearing. Midnight. Alone._

And beneath that, in horribly mocking inverted commas, the Trespasser had signed the note.

She wanted to throw the note into the fire and ignore it, run to Ilye and show her the ominous missive. But the note, lying to innocently upon her dearest friend's carefully embroidered pillow, had proved a fact more dangerous than any Aubrey had found before in the Golden Wood: the Trespasser could get into the houses of her friends, was willing to. The Trespasser had already proved they were capable of killing. Could she risk Ilye's life on not following the note?

Or would it be Haldir—Orophin—Rúmil—Roitar? So many lives to risk.

Aubrey Wendale, Palarran, traveller of worlds, was one thing before any other, and it was the moniker she had given to Haldir.  _Guide and guardian._ Evan was lost to her but not so her friends. She could no more risk them than she could have left a thin boy with her hair and her eyes to face bullies alone. The Trespasser must have known this, she mused, would not otherwise have risked sending her the note. This could only be a trap, and she would walk willingly into it to spare her friends - her  _family_ \- from even the shadow of danger.

She dressed quickly, fumbling over the laces at the neck of her tunic as she refused to relinquish the note in her fist. She realised half way into lacing her boots that her hands were trembling. She paused, clenching them into fists so tight that she could no longer feel the note in her hand.

"Am I going to die tonight?" she whispered to the talan. She wished that she could connect to the forest once more, with Orophin and Haldir, and feel its courage and strength as her own.

She was not a fighter but a defender, protector. Those she defended gave her courage and so she peeked around Ilye's door before she left. Eyes open in the disturbing, restful trance of the Eldar Ilye's breath stirred a lock of her silver hair where it had fallen across her cheek. Aubrey gazed at her friend for long moments, tearing herself away with the reminder that midnight drew ever closer.

She slipped out of the perpetually open window by Ilye's talan door rather than risk the soundlessness of the latch. As she swung herself out, she lost her grip on the note and watched it crumple, smudged and pulpy from her sweaty palms, onto the floor. She swallowed and left it there, hoping in the back of her mind that perhaps Ilye would find it and come after her, draw her away from what she was going to do.

The night did not stir around her. She left, her boots quiet on the walkway that led away from Ilye's little talan.

o0o

Haldir blinked, disorientated for a long moment as he wondered what had drawn him from his slumber. All around him the night was still save for a fox throwing cries up at the moon some miles away. He could sense nothing out of the ordinary around him yet a fierce worry nagged at the back of his mind like an itch and the more he tried to ignore it the stronger it throbbed. A sense of  _wrongness_ pervaded his mind that he could not ignore.

Soundlessly he rose, slipping his feet into his boots and pulling a loose tunic over his head. He would not find rest again until he investigated. He padded about his talan, one hand before him and the other down at his side clutching a slender dagger. He checked the room in which Aubrey had stayed and the other spare room, the storage room that housed his belongings from childhood as well as Rúmil's and Orophin's, the kitchen and main room.

There was another room below his feet, a cellar of sorts that housed food and drink, but he knew instinctively that the cause of his building trepidation was not to be found within his talan. He sat heavily in the nearest chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with the pad of his thumb. His mind wandered over the Misty Mountains to Imladris and he remembered a revealing conversation with Glorfindel and Eruanna. The conversation seemed a lifetime away now, but he still recalled in perfect clarity the way that Glorfindel's head had lifted like a hounds, detecting his wife's distress from afar and hurrying to her before she could call for him.

He could profess no such bond with any elf—but could he not? Further memories of the journey came forth and he was pulled back to Fangorn forest, to the brush of his fëa against Orophin's and whatever dimmer, beautiful light dwelled within Aubrey.

Worry shot through him and he sprang up—his younger brother and Aubrey; one of them was in distress. He dithered for half a second, his hand on the door, before deciding that Orophin with his two thousand years could handle his own affairs for long enough that other help could reach him. Aubrey, though—he did not trust what he had taught to her, not yet, not when an elf of the Wood wanted her gone and her kind slept like the dead.

Filled with the same terror as when Roitar had told him, wide eyed and stuttering, that Aubrey was going to fall and he had to come  _now,_ Haldir ran.

o0o

A baying fox had been her companion through the dark Woods; she estimated the animal to be some miles away but it was nonetheless a comfort to listen to another living thing. Before her, parting the thick shadows of the trees, the softly undulating orange light of flickering flames marked the mirror clearing. She remembered her visit to the mirror glade with Galadriel and her wonder at the bowls of fire cupped in the hands of the weeping women statues. She had marvelled then at how they seemed to burn with neither fuel nor foundation.

Now, the sight filled her with sick anticipation. She remembered the times when, as a child, Evan had become too much for her parents and they would take out their frustrations upon each other. Their screaming fights, though never violent, had sent her cowering under Evan's bed covers, cuddled together with her brother, a roiling feeling in her stomach as if she was going to be sick. She felt the same trepidations a thousand fold when she cleared the treeline and looked down into the hollow.

Her breath caught in her throat. A figure, tall and male, stood with his back to her, his arms braced against the mirror's pedestal. He was tall enough that he had to slouch to comfortably rest against the pillar but his form was obscured by a long cloak—a warden's cloak, she thought, by the way it blurred his outline and diverted her eyes from his head.

"You came," he murmured without turning. His voice, though quiet, filled the hollow with echoes.

Her heart skipped and sped up. She  _knew_ that voice, and she knew the face it belonged to when he finally turned to face her. "You—you have a letter too?" she asked shakily, knowing it was not true even as she said it but hoping so  _desperately_ that it was.

"I have not," he said, shaking his head. His silver hair stirred with the motion, picked out gold in the flickering firelight. "I wrote a letter, though, and I signed it with the name you have given me."

"Trespasser," she whispered.

He inclined his head mockingly. "That is it, yes."

"Why?" she whispered. She could still smell the madder die on her wall; feel the sickening vertigo and the terror of suspending herself, being sure she would fall to her death. "Orophin,  _why?"_

"For the same reason that you would do anything," Orophin said, softly, sorrowfully. "For my brother."

o0o

Haldir fell upon Ilye's door, slamming the heel of his palm into the centre hard enough that the wood trembled. He had slipped his mind into the forest's conscience when he arrived at the talan and had felt his heart chill when he detected Ilye's bright fëa burning within, but not Aubrey's muted radiance.

Inside the talan, he heard the elleth rise, cursing, and hurry to the door. The portal was wrenched upon and Ilye glared up at him. "Haldir? By Eru, it is five minutes past midnight! What are you doing haunting my door? You'll wake Aubrey, you great oaf."

"Will I?" he demanded caustically. "For I am willing to bet much that she is not in her bed."

The elleth's eyes widened in confusion and then she paled, ducking into the house and beckoning him with her. They burst through the door of her spare room together and Ilye let out a soft gasp at what she saw there. The bedclothes were rumpled and empty and clothes littered the floor as if someone had dressed in a hurry. "She—"

"No," Haldir cut Ilye off fiercely. "Do not think it. You were not awoken by any of this—she did it deliberately and quietly. She was not taken by force."

"You think that Aubrey has gone—left—of her own accord?" Ilye checked, disbelief colouring her tone.

He nodded stiffly. "I have to. Most likely to meet the Trespasser, no? She must have received some signal, some direction of where to meet him."

"Then we must find this signal," Ilye said. Her decisive tone was mitigated by the waver in her voice.

Haldir's throat clenched and he nodded once more. "We must."  _Unless she took it with her. Unless I am wrong._

o0o

"I don't know what you mean," Aubrey said.

Orophin tipped his head back. In the low light of the clearing, his jaw-line was eerily reminiscent of Haldir's. "What do you know of  _fëa?"_ he asked indolently.

She blinked, entirely thrown by the question. "It—it is your soul, isn't it?"

"Oh, more than that," he murmured. "So much more than that. The fëa is everything that the elf is, everything that links him to Eru and the Valar. But, mortal Aubrey; what do you know of the hroa?"

Aubrey shook her head dumbly. She felt as if she should be quaking in fear—this was he who had attempted to kill her just hours since—but it was  _Orophin._ "I don't know that word," she admitted.

"Body," he translated. "But where your soul and body are separate, one as independent from the other as two different people, an elven fëa is entwined with the hroa. So much so that to damage one is to damage the other." He strode forwards then, his steps tightly controlled but ringing with leashed fury.

Oh, but  _now_  she was afraid. "What are you—?"

"Come here," he snapped, taking her roughly by the upper arm.

"Orophin!" she cried, fighting his hold, but his grip was as iron as his brothers and he evidently did not care whether she lived or died.

" _Look,"_ he spat, thrusting her forwards so that she collided with the mirror pedestal. "Look at what you have done!"

His hand came to the back of her head, an unstoppable force, and he bowed her face forwards, callously resisting her every cry and struggle. Her nose and forehead parted the water, and her vision went black.

o0o

Ilye sprang up as if she had been stabbed. "Here!" she cried, holding a tiny item aloft.

Haldir snatched it from her and pried it gently apart. Within his grasp he held a small piece of paper, folded and crumpled so much that he could make only two words legible.  _Mirror clearing._

"They are at the mirror," he gasped. It would take nigh on ten minutes to reach the mirror, even at a full sprint. "I must go," he said, rising.

Ilye clutched at his arm. "Wait! Aubrey is my dear friend, I am coming with you."

"You will slow me," he said bluntly. "If you wish to help, find Rúmil, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, I shall have need of them."

For a timeless moment he worried she might argue— _Aubrey would have, no doubt—_ but she merely nodded and stood, whirling out of the door.

o0o

All around her was darkness. There was a warm and familiar presence beside her and she clung to it, before realising that it was Orophin, and Orophin was the Trespasser. She recoiled.

"What is this place?" she demanded. She could not see her own hands even when she held them an inch from her nose.

"We are inside the mirror," Orophin said softly. His voice carried easily in the darkness. "I am going to show you what I saw upon first returning to Lórien from Imladris."

Aubrey frowned. "Why only then? Why do you only hate me now?"

"I do not hate you," he said quietly. "I . . . I blame myself, more than anything. I have pushed you together, encouraged you—I thought it would be good for him! It was only when you and he connected to Fangorn that I saw the truth."

"What truth?" asked Aubrey.

"His love for you," Orophin said baldly. "And it is no fleeting thing, this I assure you. I had thought him infatuated perhaps, or maybe attracted to your form and friendship, but I felt and saw a love as true as any within his fëa."

"What's wrong with that?" she demanded. "I thought elves were all for love?"

"I have told you why," he said, his voice sounding faintly impatient. "Perhaps you require a more . . . practical demonstration? Very well. This is all that I saw."

Colour exploded into her vision so suddenly that she nearly fell over. They were stood upon the forest floor in Lórien, she saw, and yet they were not truly there.

Before them stood Haldir, but he was not as she knew him. His posture was painfully rigid, his chin tipped back and his jaw locked. It was like looking at a marble statue rather than the flesh and blood ellon; she thought that if this were not a vision, he would have exuded cold. She was reminded terribly of that fateful morning after Celedan's death, only now his grief was a thousand times stronger.

As she watched, the stone-hard lines of his façade fractured and crumbled. His breath came in harsh, vicious gasps and his knees buckled. He sprawled ungracefully across the forest floor, his body heaving and contorting like some macabre puppet whose strings had tangled and cut. His beautiful silver eyes were raw and red with tears, hollow with grief, and his hands curled into tight claws.

She watched, horrified, as he brought his fists up to his temples and dug his nails into the skin there, tearing at his hair and drawing blood. He was sobbing, wailing, a wordless keen that tore at her heart and left her feeling raw and gutted. She tried to move forwards, tried to take him in her arms and soothe him, but she was paralysed by the vision.

"What is this?" she cried, turning to Orophin. "What are you  _doing?"_

Orophin gazed down at her, unmoved. "You did this to him. This is the future," he said. "You are dead. His heart is breaking."

"No," she whispered. "I would never do this to him."

"You have already done it, by letting him love you."

Vision-Haldir, future-Haldir, fell onto his side and lay convulsing in the dirt, his hands curling and uncurling in the mud. His face was agony. He looked as if every breath, every beat of his heart, was the most intense torture. His lips shaped her name soundlessly and he jerked, a spasm shaking through his body. She remembered watching a video of a man having a heart attack and was reminded of him in Haldir, but where that man had fought desperately to live, Haldir—bright, vivacious Haldir who loved her, who was the closest thing to home she could define in this world—looked as if he were willing his heart to stop.

"How can you watch this?" she murmured. Tears streamed down her face even as Haldir's eyes dulled before them.

Orophin drew in a deep, shuddering breath and pressed his eyes closed for a second, striving for composure. "I have watched it a hundred times," he said. "And every time that I watched it I realised once over that there is only one way to save my brother."

Aubrey felt as if she were growing thinner, watered down, and realised the vision was fading. "How?"

"To rid him of you before he can grow too attached," Orophin said.

Her vision faded once more and she slumped to the fake forest floor. Her head bounced with the impact, dislodging her wild curls from their plait, and they tumbled out to tangle with Haldir's on the ground, a river of silver and gold.

o0o

Haldir's heart near stopped when he finally gained the clearing. Aubrey lay beside the mirror's pedestal, a fine cut along her forehead oozing crimson blood. Beside her, one arm outstretched, was—Orophin?

Foregoing the stair, Haldir leapt down into the clearing. He reached Orophin first and sank to his brother's side, shaking him gently by the shoulder. It was a long, terrifying moment before Orophin's silver-blue eyes blinked open. "Brother!" Haldir called to him.

"Hal—dir . . ." Orophin slurred, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

Haldir slid an arm beneath his younger brother's shoulders and helped him to sit by leaning back against the pedestal. "What happened?" he murmured, clutching Orophin's shoulder tightly.

"I'm . . . sorry," was his only reply. "So . . . very sorry."

He shook his head. "I lay no blame upon you that the Trespasser escaped," Haldir assured him. "I am only thankful in all of my heart that you were here to defend Aubrey. By Eru, how did you know to come? No—that is no matter now. I am merely glad that you were here."

"Is she—"

Haldir stared at the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. "She lives," he said, breathlessly relieved.

When he looked back, he saw that colour had returned to Orophin's cheeks and his eyes were alert. Surprisingly, though, his eyes were filled with gathering tears. "I'm so, so sorry," Orophin said again.

"I don't—"

"The Trespasser did not get away," Orophin whispered.

Haldir felt himself grow cold. "You—you cannot mean—"

"I . . . I  _had_ to," Orophin said helplessly.

"What—" The older elf went as still and cold as the waters of a deep lake. He backed away, one hand flying out to rest upon Aubrey's flank. "Stop." He said.

"Haldir, no one was more delighted than I to see you warm to her." Orophin said softly. His voice had regained its usual even tone and he stood. "If anything, I blame myself—I pushed you to be closer, after all; but I never thought—I didn't realise it would go this far. You cannot—"

"Stop," he whispered, standing himself, shielding the fallen mortal with his form. "I will not hear this."

"You must!" Orophin pressed, striding forwards and gripping his shoulder. "She is edain, brother."

"I know! I know what she is," he hissed, trying to pull free, but his brother clung on.

"She is mortal," Orophin said, his voice soft but fierce. "Mortals  _die."_

Haldir felt the words like an ice cold blade twisting into his gut and for a timeless, hazy second, he thought he might throw up. "I know," he breathed. His hands were trembling, spasming, and tears burnt in his eyes, fragmenting his vision. "I know." His knees gave out and he sank to the floor, his hands reaching out for Aubrey but stopping inches from her skin as if she burned him. Just imagining it was more than he could bear.

"Brother," Orophin said helplessly, "you cannot love her."

"It's too late for that," he murmured, so quietly the words were almost lost in the inches between them.

"No, Haldir!" Orophin's voice rose, desperate anger in his tone. "This will be your death!"

"I know," he said again. His own anger surged forwards then—perceptive Orophin, of course he had known even before Haldir. And he had dared to mean her harm? "And I  _do not care._ Who are you to harm her?"

"I only did what I could to try and save you," Orophin said. "You and Rúmil are the same, rushing so blindly into love—I remember when Naneth and Adar left—how you were still and quiet for days—could not talk, could not move—I  _remember_ and I  _will not see you that way again,_ not over a  _mortal."_

"You were so concerned over the impact her death would have upon me that you sought to kill her yourself?" Haldir demanded. He wished that he had Curmegil at his side.

Orophin faltered. "I—I thought—I thought that if I could make her leave then it would not hurt you so much," he said. His eyes darkened and the anger returned. "But she would not go! She did not heed my warnings. And—and then—I did not mean to  _kill_ her—I was waiting . . . I would have caught her!"

"Do you believe these lies yourself?" Haldir asked. There was terrible anger and pity in his tone. "Or is my brother so far gone as to willingly murder?"

" _I am not!"_ Orophin screamed. "I would not murder—I never  _meant_ to; she  _wasn't meant to be hurt,_ not at first. I . . . I love her as a sister."

"I fine brother you have made her," Haldir retorted. His voice was soft, deadly, as he advanced upon the younger elf, leaving Aubrey's sprawled figure in the dirt.

"It was all for you," Orophin said desperately. "Everything for my brother—she would understand."

"Naneth and Adar would be ashamed of you," Haldir spat.

Orophin blanched. "I did it for you," he whispered. "For  _all_  of us."

"I should exile you," the Marchwarden pronounced. "Traitor, attempted murderer."

"No," he whispered.

"That is more than you deserve. And what fresh harm have you caused? Why does she not wake?" he demanded, concern diluting the vicious anger in his voice.

"The direct mirror-sight is too much for a mortal," Orophin said slowly. "She may not wake for days. She may never."

Haldir's eyes hardened, cooling steel. "You are no brother of mine," he snarled.

Orophin began to back away, his hands raised before him and his head bowed low. Behind him, Aubrey moved. Haldir's attention snapped to her crumpled form and he saw that sweat soaked her brow, matting her hair. Her back arched and her limbs stiffened, a pained grimace on her face. He crossed quickly to her and knelt by her side, his heart clenching with all that he saw and all that he had learned. "Aubrey, Palarran,  _meleth,"_ he whispered, brushing a hand along her forehead.

She did not stir and her skin was worryingly hot beneath his. Quickly he took her into his arms and stood, making for the steps. As his attention had been on the writhing woman in his arms, Orophin had fled, running into the night.

Haldir's lip curled and he turned away from his middle brother's path.  _Orophin,_ he whispered to the night,  _you are lost._


	32. Chapter 32

Aubrey's body weighed like lead in his arms. His feet sank into the soft, mossy ground beneath him and each step cost him more than he had known he could give. He wanted to sink to the floor and curl around her silent form, shelter her from further harm. He wanted Aubrey to wake. He wanted to race back to the clearing, find Orophin's tracks and hunt him down. He wanted to beat his brother until his bones cracked and blood splattered the floor. He wanted to shake his brother and demand,  _demand_ to know that it was a joke, a trick, because Orophin  _would not do this to him._

He wanted so many things and they were all so far from his grasp that they may as well have been in Aubrey's world. She was the closest, though, cradled in his arms, and so it was to her that he directed all of his want. He dipped his head to where her head lolled against his chest and murmured into her hair, "Wake up, Palarran."

She did not stir and his squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Please," he whispered, and he meant so many things by it.  _Please wake up. Please be well. Please don't let Orophin be the one. Please send him away so that I never have to see him again._

Sweat beaded on her forehead and he shifted his arms to brush it away. The liquid was cool, the same temperature as the moisture on his face, and it was only then that he realised her forehead was dampened by his tears rather than her own sweat.

Ahead of him he could hear the clumsy disturbance of several people hurrying through the undergrowth without care. He felt a rush of instinct that told him to turn and flee lest they be enemies too and bring further harm to Aubrey; he knew them to be help, though, and it was this reassurance that spurred him on.

Ilye broke through the undergrowth first, Rúmil a step behind her. Her dress had been torn ragged by the briars she had not cared to avoid. Her silvery hair was dishevelled and a lock fell forward in front of her eyes. Relief touched her face when she saw him and quickly fell to horror when she saw what he held in his arms. "What happened?" she demanded, rushing forwards.

Haldir's jaw tightened. "That can be discussed when she is safe and well." He looked up at Galadriel; the Lady and Lord Celeborn had followed Ilye and Rúmil. "My Lady, she will not wake."

Galadriel hurried to his side and laid a hand upon Aubrey's forehead. She frowned at what she felt there and Haldir stiffened, drawing Aubrey closer into his body. "What is it?" he pressed.

"I can scarcely sense her mind," Galadriel murmured. "It draws away, barely holding on."

"Will she recover?"

The Lady paused. It was a weighted, pregnant pause that caused Haldir's heart to pound fearfully. "I am uncertain," she said finally. "Only time and rest may tell."

Rúmil cleared his throat from where he stood beside Celeborn. "Where is our brother?" he asked. "Ilye said you felt his turmoil."

Haldir flinched. "Not now," he murmured.

Rúmil's frown deepened. "But—"

" _Not now!"_ Haldir cried desperately. Rúmil must have sensed the tenuous, breaking hold Haldir had over himself for he subsided with no more than a nod.

"Let us return to the city, Marchwarden," Lady Galadriel said. Her voice was gentle and steady and exactly what he needed to hear.

He nodded abstractly. "Yes, of course."

Celeborn led their procession back to the city. They walked in eerie, tense silence, save for Aubrey's occasional pained moans. Each of them tightened a band of steel about Haldir's heart until he did not know how he remained upright. Rúmil and Ilye fell easily into step with him, Ilye reaching out to rest one hand against Aubrey's trailing arm. Her fingers moved lightly over the pale sleeve and Haldir was glad of the elleth's comfort, though it was not offered to him.

A healer's talan was their destination; one of many set out on the lower levels of the city this one was small, housing only four beds. The room had wide windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, flooding the chamber with enough moonlight to see easily by. It was deserted of all save for the healer who tended it, an ellon named Earon.

Ilye ran in front to rouse Earon; Haldir longed to run after her, he wanted Aubrey to be in the care of a healer as soon as possible, but he knew not what damage had already been done and he was loath to risk harming her more by jostling her. He kept his gait slow and smooth up the stairs to Earon's talan. By the time he reached the door Earon was there to welcome him, his clothes rumpled from dressing so quickly but his eyes alert.

"Set her down there," he directed Haldir, indicating the closest bed to them. He was relieved to release Aubrey and flexed his fingers to regain the feeling in his tingling arms. Her weight was negligible to him but the walk had been long, and in his anxiety he had clutched her close to him.

"How long has she been this way?" Earon murmured, leaning over Aubrey. His fingers skimmed her brow and gently parted her eyelids. Haldir swallowed thickly when he saw that her eyes were blank and lifeless beneath her lids.

"Perhaps a half hour since I found her, I do not know how long before that," he related.

Earon hummed thoughtfully. His fingers returned to her brow and skimmed across the small cut above her left eyebrow. It had already begun to clot. "This wound is not enough to cause unconsciousness," he pronounced. "And even if it were, it would last for mere minutes. What has happened to her?"

"She . . . she was forced to look into the mirror. To  _enter_ the mirror. The—the Trespasser said that the full mirror sight would overwhelm her mortal mind."

Earon and Galadriel gave simultaneous gasps. It was the Lady who spoke. "Such a thing would be dangerous for an elf. Even  _I_ am exhausted by full mirror sight."

"They were both unconscious when I found them," he said softly.

" _They?_  Haldir, you saw the Trespasser?" Rúmil asked.

His pressed his eyes closed and nodded. He could not look at Aubrey as he pronounced her attacker. "Orophin," he breathed. "Orophin was the one."

"He cannot be." Rúmil's denouncement had no hint of doubt; he could not even consider the guilt of his elder brother. "Haldir, you are mistaken."

"I looked him in the eye as he admitted it to me," he said flatly. He opened his eyes but did not turn, unable to watch the grief unfold in Rúmil's face. He lifted his chin and paced to Aubrey's bedside, taking her limp hand in his and squeezing it gently. "He is our brother no longer, Rúmil. He is lost to us."

"No." Rúmil's voice shook. Haldir was uncomfortably aware of the eyes of every other person in the talan flickering between him and his remaining brother. " _No!"_  Rúmil said again.

"Rúmil—" Ilye started, but he was already gone, bursting out of the door and running out into the night.

The talan filled up with silence, broken only by Earon's movement as he carefully noted down all that he had learned and pressed his fingers against Aubrey's neck, reading her pulse. Haldir felt it in the hand he held, strong but slow against his fingertips. At last, Earon straightened, setting aside his notebook and paper. He gave a significant look to the elves filling his talan. "My Lord, my Lady. There is no more I can do for her this night."

Taking his hint, Galadriel and Celeborn inclined their heads to the healer. "Haldir, I would speak with you," Galadriel said. She saw the way his hand tightened reflexively around Aubrey's and paused. "I will see you at tomorrow noon."

He nodded, grateful of the time she allowed him. "As you say, my Lady."

They left then, leaving him and Ilye in stilted silence under Earon's weary gaze. "One of you may stay," he told them finally. "I am going to bed. Rouse me at any change."

Haldir bit his lip in thought. Ilye had been Aubrey's friend for longer than he had—had loved her before he had. Had been there for her when he had not. It had been Ilye to whom Aubrey had told Evan's story. He had no right to separate them now, yet for all of Arda he could not bring himself to release her hand.

Ilye's fingertips brushed his shoulder and he stiffened. "Stay with her," Ilye bade him gently. "I will be by her side tomorrow, when you must go."

"Thank you," he said weakly. He was breathless with gratitude and grief.

Ilye left quietly, setting the door closed with barely a whisper. Haldir was left alone, cradling Aubrey's hand in both of his. The sudden silence was more oppressive than ever, filled as it was by only two sets of breath, one of which was too slow and shallow.

"Eru, Illuvitar," Haldir murmured. He brought Aubrey's hand up to his lips, warming her fingers with his breath and brushing his prayer against her skin. "Let her be healed, let her be well. The gift of men is bittersweet and she is not ready to taste it . . . I am not ready. Do not take her from me, not yet."

He realised then that Orophin had been right, for he would never be ready. A small, dark part of him wished that Orophin had acted sooner, warned him faster, because it was far too late now. His heart was no longer his own, was tied to Aubrey's life as surely as the earth was tied to the sun. He had searched for love for so long and now that he had found it, he discovered that it was a blade he must embrace. He did not know how deeply he was cut. Deep enough that to remove the blade would kill him instantly. Deep enough that he was dead regardless.

"I hate Orophin for what he has done," he told Aubrey softly, taking a lock of her hair from the pillow and rubbing his fingers gently through it. He remembered how she had loved his attentions to her hair back in the Misty Mountains, had curled into his hand like a cat. "He remembers the agony of Adar and Naneth leaving, know—but the idea of him  _hurting_ you, wanting you  _dead_ —it fills me with such rage I have never known."

Of course she did not respond. "Please come back," he begged her. "Tell me that you hate Orophin. Tell me you forgive him, if it pleases you. Tell me you hate  _me._ But awaken."

A breeze picked at the thin drapes, sending them billowing across the bed. The scraped against Aubrey's arm and she shivered. He rose quickly and closed the window, latching the wooden frame half-closed so that fresh air would still come in but the strong breeze would not cool her. He saw a shelf of folded blankets above her bed and grabbed the one, a dark blue weave that shimmered silver in the pale moonlight. He set the blanket over her and smoothed it gently, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you," he said. She lay there, just the same.

o0o

After dragging a chair over to Aubrey's bedside and reclaiming her hand, Haldir had not moved for the rest of the night. The first glimmers of dawn light cresting the treetops roused him from a trance-like stupor. Aubrey lay as still as a marble tomb before him, her breath barely stirring her chest. He scrambled for her wrist, pressing his fingers against the pale skin there. For a heart stopping second he felt nothing, before the weakest of flutters against his skin.

He hurried to the door that led to Earon's sleeping quarters and wrenched it open. "Earon!" he cried. "Wake up, it's Aubrey—she is so still . . ."

Earon woke quickly and stood even before the haze about his eyes had cleared. He stumbled past Haldir, clutching at the door frame. "When did she change?" he asked. His voice was steadier than his feet, which seemed to still be asleep.

"I—I do not know," Haldir admitted, feeling his stomach drop. "I had drifted away and when I came back to myself she was like this. Last night she moved and whimpered, but now . . . this is not sleep, surely."

Earon parted her eyelids as he had the night before. "Mortals call this a coma," he said absent mindedly, moving his fingers quickly in front of her pupils to test her reaction. "She is neither truly asleep nor awake."

"But will she come  _back?"_ Haldir demanded.

"I do not know," Earon sighed, that hated answer that was becoming so common. "There is nothing to do for her but keep her warm and comfortable. If she is meant to wake, then she will. I have never treated anyone like this before and certainly not a mortal . . . I will contact Lord Elrond, he may have advice in her treatment."

Numbly, Haldir nodded and sank once more into the chair. He did not take her hand, but rested his chin upon his steepled fingers and observed the slow, continuous rise and fall of her chest. If he ignored her unnatural stillness and silence, she might have been sleeping her strange, closed-eye sleep.

"I wonder if you can hear me?" he mused, leaning forwards in his chair. "I was once in Gondor—in Ithilien. A young man was like this, asleep and unable to wake. He had fallen from his horse and struck his head. His parents would sit with him and talk, his mother would sing. They learned there was an elf in the city and they begged me to heal him, but I am no healer. I sat with them for a day, though, and watched as they cared for him. He woke, eventually, after a week, but his wits were addled by the fall. He never spoke again, to my knowledge." He chuckled faintly. "Imagine the peace I shall have if you never speak, Palarran."

He half-wanted her to scowl at him for the jest, but she did not move. Teasing her felt cruel when he could have no response.

With a heavy sigh, he reached out and clasped her hand once more.

o0o

"Goodness," Ilye said wryly. "Have you not moved all night? It has been hours. Your hand must be rather sweaty if you have held hers all these hours."

A small smile touched Haldir's lips. It was an hour before noon, and sure enough Ilye had arrived. "If she is aware, I want her to know that I am here," he said softly. "And I could not bare it if she—if she slipped away because I was not here to hold her back."

Ilye's face softened. "Oh, Haldir," she said, rounding the bed to stand by his side. "I am sorry, I did not mean to make light."

He shook his head wearily and stood. "Do not be troubled. If Aubrey can hear us she will certainly appreciate your laughter over my moping."

"Well, you  _are_ rather serious." Ilye smiled.

He let himself laugh, then. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I would hate to leave her alone."

"I would have come anyway," she said simply. "I love her too."

He dipped his head. "Of course."

"Has there been any change?" Ilye asked. She brushed Aubrey's hair away from her face, arranging it carefully around her pillow.

"She . . . she has slipped deeper into herself," he told her. "Earon is uncertain if she will ever wake."

Ilye frowned and gripped his wrist. "Then  _we_ will be certain," she said firmly. "We will believe it utterly and completely with our every breath. Aubrey  _will_ wake."

Her hope was so strong that he could not help but feel it. He let it fill him, warming him from head to toe. "Yes," he replied. "She  _will."_

Ilye nodded brusquely. "Good. Go to the Lady, Haldir, she may have new insight."

He nodded, collecting his cloak from where he had flung it over the back of the chair. "Thank you, Ilye," he said as he made to leave.

She waved him away with a soft smile. "Go to your meeting, Marchwarden. I will be here."

o0o

Galadriel and Celeborn awaited him in the main room of their talan. Their faces were grave and stern, and they dressed in the flawless colours of winter. Usually Galadriel and Celeborn held all of the familiar, comforting warmth of the sun and radiated it out upon their subjects. Now, they were cold and distant stars.

"Haldir," Galadriel greeted him solemnly. "Marchwarden of Lórien. Did Orophin confess his offences before you?"

"He did," he replied stiffly.

"Have you any reason to doubt this omission?" Celeborn asked him.

His voice shook. "I have not."

"Do you know anything of his motives?"

He breathed deeply. He still felt such terrible rage that he knew he could not be fair. He wanted to deny anything, to tell them that Orophin had acted out of jealousy or simple malevolence. But he remembered his brother as an infant, remembered Orophin learning to walk by grabbing onto his legs and shadowing his steps, and he could not. "He did it for me," he admitted. Guilt surged through him, then. For how could be anyone's fault but his? "When Aubrey, Orophin and I linked with Fangorn, he saw my love for her and how it will destroy me when she eventually—" he stopped, unable to pronounce that terrible word. "He was trying to save me."

"What do you think of this motive?" Celeborn asked.

His eyes hardened. "A pure motive does not excuse his actions—over worry of my reaction to her death, he sought to kill her? I cannot excuse him."

"And yet, you have made no move to find him. Made no move to stop him." Galadriel observed.

He frowned. "I—I had to help Aubrey," he defended himself.

"Do not mistake me, I make no accusation," Galadriel stressed. "I know of your love and loyalty. I merely suggest that revenge is not in your heart in the way you think it is."

"I do not understand, Lady," he admitted.

She approached him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "How long would it have been before you came to be and sought leave to hunt your brother down? I feel that he has left Lórien; you surely know this as well."

He nodded mutely.

"I know you Haldir, I know the fierceness with which you love and hate, subtle and reserved though you can be. You must not let hatred cloud your love for Orophin; he is your brother."

Haldir thought of Aubrey's broken form slumped against the mirror pedestal and pulled away roughly. "No brother of mine would harm Aubrey in such a way," he snapped.

"And yet he  _has._ Do you really, truly hate him?" she pressed.

He did not want to examine that question, for either answer terrified him. "He led our investigation awry and made me suspect decent elves of his own crimes. He tried to kill her," he whispered. "He knew that I loved her and he tried to kill her."

" _Because he loves you._ Do not let further hatred be born of this, Marchwarden. Orophin is cast out and alone, confronted with the disdain of his oldest brother and the guilt of his actions. Is this not punishment enough?"

 _No. Yes._ "I do not know."

"Think on it," she bade him. "He is your brother, Haldir, no matter what he has done."

He nodded, feeling their dismissal, and wandered slowly out of the talan.

He looked up at the bright mid-day sky and clenched his fists tightly. He whispered his prayers to Eru aloud: that Orophin would never return, so he would never have to look at him again, knowing what he had done.

He remembered tiny hands clutching at his knee, the wavering strength of an infant borrowing his own power, taking slow and stumbling steps with him.

_Carry me, Ha-dir, carry me!_

Then,  _Look, I can do it!_

And he prayed that Orophin was safe, and that he would come home.


	33. Chapter 33

Two days passed before Rúmil finally convinced himself to visit Aubrey. He made sure that Haldir was down by the training area, organising warden patrols, before he headed to Earon's talan. He was not ready to face his eldest brother.

Ilye was in Earon's talan; he had suspected that she might be there; it seemed that either she or Haldir always was. The door had been propped upon with a stool, allowing fresh air to billow into the chamber. Ilye sat cross-legged on Aubrey's bed, talking animatedly to the unconscious woman. She broke off, mid-sentence, when she saw him in the door frame.

"Rúmil," she greeted him, faint surprise in her voice.

He swallowed nervously. "Is she—has there been any change?"

Ilye shook her head sadly. "She has not stirred. Sometimes, though, I think I see her eyes move beneath her lids. I think that she breathes faster when I talk to her, but I may be imagining it."

"That's . . . that's good," he murmured. He took a chair from beside the wall and brought it to Aubrey's bed, sitting heavily beside her.

Ilye frowned. "Rúmil—how are you? This cannot be easy for you, your brothers—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly, turning away. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue but it was all he could possibly say.

He heard Ilye shift on the bed and then her hand came to rest on his cheek. She drew his face up and met his eyes. "You can tell me," she said softly.

Feeling like he was kicking away the keystone in a dam or ripping a scab from his flesh, he said, "I don't know what I am supposed to feel. I love my brothers, both of them. I can barely comprehend that Orophin would do such a thing, and yet I cannot understand how Haldir would drive him away. Orophin—Orophin told me, once, when I was very young, that there was nothing either of us could ever do that Haldir would not forgive. It seems he was mistaken."

"What Orophin did was very wrong," Ilye said cautiously.

"I know," said Rúmil. "Of course I know that. It is not  _like_ Orophin, not at all—he is gentle, loving, kind. He always has been. I just . . . I just wish I knew  _why,"_ he whispered.

"Haldir is sure to know," Ilye ventured. "He found them in the clearing; he must have spoken to Orophin. Why do you not ask him?"

Rúmil shook his head. "I cannot speak to him. Not yet."

"Rúmil, none of this is Haldir's fault," Ilye said, taken aback.

"I did not say it was! Please,  _listen_ to me—"

"I am!" she snapped. "And it sounds an awful lot like you are siding with Orophin."

Rúmil stood and began to pace the talan in tight circles, running an agitated hand through his hair. "You don't understand," he said tersely. "Orophin is my brother too."

"And look what he has done!" Ilye cried, grabbing his arm and tugging him around, forcing him to look at Aubrey. " _This_ is your  _brother's_ work."

"I—there has to be a reason," he stumbled. "He wouldn't just do this, wouldn't hurt her."

"Rúmil," Ilye said, the fight leaving her voice, "he  _has."_

She gave him a long look, rage and sympathy mixing in her eyes. He could not bear it and turned away, looking at the floor for want of anything else. Her grip tightened on his sleeve and then released; she left him alone in the talan with the sleeping girl. He stayed absolutely still, tears burning in his eyes. He could not bring himself to hate Orophin no matter how what he had done; he simply did not have it within him to hate his own brother.

When he was sure that Ilye was not coming back, he slowly regained his chair and looked sorrowfully down at Aubrey. "Haldir raised me," he told her softly. "My Naneth and Adar left for Valinor when I was only five years old, I do not remember them—just Haldir and Orophin. They . . . they were my whole world. I cannot believe that Orophin is corrupt now, not the elf who gave up so much of his youth to help raise a child. I do not understand how Haldir could so easily cast him out, either. We were always meant to be together, Aubrey. The three of us. And now—now Orophin is gone and I cannot face Haldir."

His breath hitched and he broke off, breathing heavily. Talking to Aubrey when she could not respond was both unsettling and cathartic. He found that he missed her bright presence even more than he had before coming to visit her, he truly had come to love her as a sister.

"I shall give Fingo to you, if you wake," he said hopefully. She did not stir.

o0o

Rúmil stayed by Aubrey's bedside all day, helped Earon tip the thin broth down her throat when it came time for her meal and then, an hour later, the honeyed milk. He'd felt faintly uncomfortable massaging her throat to make her swallow, propping her against his body so that Earon might pour the soup into her parted lips; as if he was intruding upon her personal space without consent.

The warm meal had brought a temporary flush to her cheeks that had quickly faded until she was once more winter-pale. He sat with one of her hands between both of his, trying to chafe some measure of warmth into the chilled skin. He'd closed the talan door and window, even piled an extra blanket onto the bed, but still Aubrey was cold.

The door creaked open behind him and he startled, turning sharply around. Haldir was framed in the doorway, looking as surprised to see Rúmil and Rúmil was to be interrupted.

"What are you doing here?" Haldir asked. His voice was rough with grief and lack of sleep, and his eyes were dull, lined with red.

Rúmil lifted his chin. "I wanted to see my friend."

For a moment he thought that Haldir might pick a fight with him, but then his eldest brother slumped forward, trudging across the talan and dropping to his knees and Aubrey's bedside. Haldir took Aubrey's free hand and pressed his lips against her fingertips with a fervent, desperate kind of affection. "No change," he noted.

Rúmil shook his head mutely; it had not really been a question. "Haldir," he said quietly, "tell me why."

"Why what?" Haldir asked.

"You know. Why did Orophin do this?"

Haldir stiffened. His eyes flickered to the hand of Aubrey's that Rúmil held, as if he wanted to pull her away. "That is none of your concern," he said stiffly.

Rúmil scoffed. "That is horse shit. Orophin is my brother, you are my brother. Aubrey may as well be my sister."

"He said that," Haldir said coldly. "Your  _brother."_

" _Your_ brother," Rúmil insisted. " _Our_ brother."

"Not after what he did. He tried to kill her, Rúmil."

Rúmil threw down Aubrey's hand. "So everyone keeps saying," he snapped. "What I would like to know is why."

"For  _me,"_ Haldir cried. "Are you satisfied with your answer? It is  _my fault._ Orophin did this because he saw my love for her and he knew that it would kill me when she died her mortal death. He decided to take the situation into his hands and rid me of the risk himself."

Rúmil's lips parted in shock. "All of this time," he whispered. "It was for you? Out of his love for you?"

"You say it as if I should be honoured," Haldir spat.

"But you are not, are you?" Rúmil realised. "You feel guilty; as if this is your fault as much as Orophin's."

"Is it not? Were it not for my love for her, she would not be here, like this." He mumbled.

"I am surprised at how openly you admit to it," Rúmil observed.

Haldir shrugged helplessly. He reached out and skimmed his fingertips across Aubrey's lank hair. "What is the use in denial now? She lies near death because of my love, I am as well to admit to it."

"You speak of your love as if it is a curse," Rúmil murmured.

Haldir met his eyes. His gaze was hollow and haunted, the eyes of a man lost in that empty land between hope and despair, unsure which shore he should strive for. "Is it not?"


	34. Chapter 34

The sword weighed heavily in her hand. Two steps away her opponent balanced his blade lightly in his fingers, taller than her by a head and easily stronger. Aubrey smiled; he would not beat her. Before he could attack, she ran forwards, her sword extended before her. Their blades rattled together sending shockwaves smarting up her arm. She faltered and stumbled, the sword falling from her numb fingers. Instead of pressing his advantage, her opponent let his arm fall to his side and bent, picking up her sword and offering it to her hilt first.

"You're not meant to give it back when I drop it," she told him imperiously, taking the sword.

Evan frowned. "Why not?"

"Because if I drop it, that means you've won!"

Evan's frown deepened. "I don't want to win," he said. At twelve, his voice was already beginning to break, and faltered over the occasional syllable. "I want to play with you."

"But that's the  _game,"_ she protested, flopping down onto her back in the grass. It was cool beneath her and had not quite dried after the previous day's rain. Idly, she ran the pad of her thumb down the blunt wooden edge of her sword.

"I'm not sure I'd like using a sword for real," he said nervously, joining her on the grass with his legs folded meticulously beneath him. "I don't think I'd be very good at it."

"Well, not if you gave them their swords back," she said sagely.

"What would you do?" he asked. He used the tip of his sword to trace shapes in the air; here a butterfly's wing, there an oak leaf.

Aubrey raised herself on her elbows. "I'd win, of course," she said. "And I wouldn't give them their swords back. That way you wouldn't have to fight."

"Because you'd fight them for me?" his sword hovered, half way around an invisible spiral.

She nodded decisively. "Because I'd fight them for you."

_Aubrey, wake up, please._

She startled, shaking her head like a dog coming out of a cold river.

"What is it?" Evan asked, looking around.

She hesitated. "I thought I heard . . . I thought I heard a man say something. It's nothing."

"What? Who? What did he say?"

_Please, Palarran, do not leave me._

She swallowed nervously, bit her lip. She had no idea what  _Palarran_ meant, nor who the disembodied voice belonged to; it certainly was not someone that she knew. "It doesn't matter." She said. "It's nothing."

o0o

"Earon!" Haldir cried, spring from his chair. His night time vigil over Aubrey's bedside had become a ritual, so much so that he no longer greeted Earon when he entered the talan. They both knew he would arrive minutes after Ilye left and not leave until she returned the next day. This night, though, was different. He'd paused in his retelling of the day's events, trailing off in sudden despair and  _begged_ her to come back to him. His voice had weakened and broken on the words and he'd felt tears burning his red-raw eyes when he had felt her fingers twitch; the smallest of movements but the greatest of milestones.

The healer hurried into the room, leaving his door swinging behind him. "What is it?" he asked, joining Haldir at Aubrey's bedside.

"I think that she can hear me," Haldir said breathlessly. "I was speaking to her just now—her eyes were moving, as if she dreamed—and when I called her by her epessë, her fingers moved."

"You are certain?" Earon checked. He leaned over Aubrey and pressed his fingers to her pulse in her neck, then gently parted her eyelids and observed the reaction of her pupils to the small candle he passed in front of them.

The Marchwarden nodded. "Beyond doubt. I held her hand and for a moment, her fingers tightened around mine."

"This is a good sign," Earon said with a wide smile. "She is in there, still; she fights."

"Is she yet closer to coming back to us?" Haldir asked.  _Is she yet closer to coming back to me?_

Earon's smile dimmed slightly. "This I cannot say. It certainly means that she has not slipped further away, yet it could be simply a spasm of her muscles. Please notify me if it happens again, but, Marchwarden—do not be too hopeful over this."

With a small bow, Earon returned to his chambers, leaving Haldir alone with Aubrey's sleeping form. Hope surged within Haldir despite Earon's words; despite his own best interest. The fact that Aubrey had responded to her epessë simply  _had_ to be meaningful; there was no way it could have been a complete coincidence that she would move just as he entreated her with the name he had given her himself. He remembered her meeting his eyes, recently soothed wounds and guarded trust in her green gaze as she shyly pronounced his own epessë.  _Freoða._  Haldir thought back to the complete conviction in Ilye's eyes when she had first assured him, an agonising week ago, that Aubrey would wake and return to them. For the first time, he truly believed her.

o0o

"Evan!" Aubrey cried, waving her hands above her head. She'd managed to tumble off the sledge when they hit a bank of snow and had skidded, laughing merrily, down the slope away from her brother. "Evan, over here!"

He looked over the brow of the hill, narrowing his eyes, until he spotted her at the bottom of the snow bank. Grinning, he raced over to her, pulling the sledge after him by the blue rope strung across its handles. The snow was deep enough to almost swallow his boots, and freshly fallen. It made a delightful creak-crunch beneath their feet and scooped easily into snowballs.

"Down that hill again?" he asked when he reached her.

Aubrey nodded. Their cheeks were flushed with cold and she clapped her hands together, trying to bring some warmth back into her sodden gloves. "Can you carry the sledge?"

He hefted it easily onto his shoulders; the past three months had brought about his thirteenth birthday and a dramatic growth spurt. "Sure," he said, reaching back with his free hand and catching one of hers, linking their fingers. She let him tug her up the hill and then grabbed the sledge when he set it down in the snow, holding it steady at the start of the slope. Evan climbed on first, settling into the padded seat at the back. He dug his heels into the fresh powder and nodded that he was steady. Aubrey clambered onto the front of the sledge, gripping the handles as tightly as she could. Evan's arms came around her waist and she could  _feel_ his grin, even if she could not see it.

Apart from the tracks they had made with their first run, the snowy slope before them was entirely pristine. Aubrey was filled at once with a sense of sorrow that they would ruin the perfection, and glee that they were the only ones there. Evan's difference didn't  _matter_ when it was just the two of them and the vast snowy moors beneath the even larger sky.

"Are you ready?" Evan asked, his breath hot against her ear. She wrinkled her nose; he'd recently taken to drinking coffee in an effort to emulate their Dad and she hated the bitter smell on his breath.

She tightened her grip on the sledge handles and prepared herself for the flying-falling feeling. "Yeah!"

"One—"Evan said.

"—two—" she giggled.

Then, their voices overlapping, "—three!"

Evan kicked off and the sledge  _flew._ Aubrey shrieked out a laugh, giddy with the speed of it. A bank of trees halfway down the hill whizzed past them, flickering like poor quality film. The ride was too short, as always, all too soon they slowed and the sledge began to turn, spinning around until they faced back the way they had come. Two perfect tracks marked the hill, mirroring the set they had made before.

"I haven't had that much fun since I last galloped on Fingo," Aubrey laughed.

Evan frowned. "What?"

A cold feeling stole over Aubrey that had nothing to do with the snow in her gloves. "I—I don't know. I just said that, I don't know what it means."

"But  _you_ said it," Evan protested.

"I know I did!" she cried, standing up and striding away from the sledge. She felt as if something was beating against her,  _pressing_ against her mind, like the anticipation of a terrible headache to come or the slow nag of  _knowing_ she had forgotten something and being unable to grasp at it. It was a feeling she had not experienced since that day over a year ago when a man's voice she did not know but had nonetheless felt familiar had sounded in her ear. For an awful moment, she felt as if she was outside of herself, looking down at an eleven year old body that wasn't hers, wasn't hers  _any more._ She came back to herself with the same suddenness that had jolted her off the sledge on their first run and shivered. The feeling was gone.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

o0o

Ilye frowned when she entered the healer's talan. Haldir still sat by Aubrey's bed, talking softly to her. In the shaky routine they had adopted over the weak that Aubrey had been comatose for, Haldir was almost always gone or preparing to leave by the time she reached the talan mid-morning. She suspected he was ashamed of the affection he showed Aubrey, or the grief he fought against.

"I did not expect to see you here," she said quietly, drawing his attention gently.

Still, he stiffened. "I lost track of time."

"Has there been any change?" Ilye asked, no longer hoping for any affirmation. She'd asked the question too often to hope for anything.

To her shock, Haldir turned, a smile touching his lips. "Yes! Around midnight, when I was speaking to her, she squeezed my hand. It was only for the briefest of seconds, but I know that I felt it."

Elation flooded through Ilye and she rushed over to the bed. "Oh, that is wonderful! I must confess, I had begun to feel disheartened—I should never have doubted you, Aubrey, I  _knew_ that you were still there."

Though she received no response, Ilye nonetheless felt certain that Aubrey heard her. Haldir, surprisingly, made no move to leave or to release Aubrey's hand. His thumb rubbed across her palm, tracing as circle against the soft skin there. Without looking away from the unconscious woman, Haldir asked, "How is Rúmil?"

Ilye's brows drew together. "He is your brother; should I not ask that of you?"

"We have not spoken much since—we have not spoken much this past week," Haldir said. His voice had lost the openness of a moment ago, replaced by the cool formality of the Marchwarden.

"Perhaps you ought to," Ilye told him. Feeling daring, she added, "You have already lost yourself one brother this week."

Haldir tensed. "You do not understand," he said quietly.

"Someone you love has been harmed by someone you cared deeply for. Do I not understand? Or were Aubrey and Orophin not my friends as well?" she demanded, irked.

"It is different, Ilye," Haldir insisted.

"I know that, of course I do. But I love Aubrey and I care for you and Rúmil, no matter what any of you say. I will not be a go-between for you and your brother; none of us deserve that." She said firmly.

"I don't know how to talk to him now," Haldir whispered.

Ilye had the distinct impression that he was talking to Aubrey, but she answered him regardless. "Rúmil loves you, Haldir," she said gently. "He idolises you—but he also looked up to Orophin. Can you not see how difficult this must be for him?"

"I . . . I will talk to him," he said. "You are right." He stood wearily and stretched with the long, languid grace of a hunting cat. "I will leave you."

Ilye nodded in acquiescence and slid into the chair he had vacated for it was nearer to Aubrey's head. "I will no doubt be here when you return," she said.

At the talan door, Haldir paused. "Hold her hand," he murmured. "I think it helps."

o0o

Aubrey ducked her head and laughed into her drink, licking the taste of rum and coke from her lips. The spicy-sweet flavour filled her mouth and warmed her insides; she was past wondering exactly what percentage of rum had made up the drink but she had a feeling it had been a hefty one. Either way, she was pleased.

"What time are you leaving?" He asked, leaning across the bench and talking directly into her ear so she could hear him over the roar of the party. She thought his name was Nate, but it could have been Noah.

Aubrey took another generous sip of her drink. "Not too much longer," she said. "I just want to finish this."

Nate's fingers brushed the edge of her collar, lightly tracing the curve of her exposed collarbone. "We could stay," he whispered. "I don't have work tomorrow. We could . . . find a room, maybe."

Her heart sped up and she smiled. Oh, she  _wanted_ to say yes. She ached with wanting to say yes because she was half way into her third rum and coke and there had been a beer before that; she wanted just  _one_ night where she could slip upstairs at a party and fumble her way into a room with a handsome stranger she only knew as a friend of a friend.

"I can't," she said bitterly. "I have to get home."

He frowned. "Why? What's your rush?"

"My brother's expecting me." She'd stayed the night at a friend's house once when she was younger, without warning Evan. When she'd come home in the morning she'd found him curled up in the garden shed, his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor, shivering and twitching with the remnants of his sobs. His nail beds had been bloody from where he'd bitten them away.

Nate/Noah looked at her, befuddled. "Who has to get home to their brother?"

"I do," she said tightly. Suddenly, she did not want the rest of her drink. She set it down on a stained coffee table hard enough that the liquid spilled.

"What, is he disabled or something?" Nate called after her.

She grabbed her coat and shrugged into the sleeves, already pushing past dancing bodies to the door. "Or something," she muttered.

The cooler night air was a shock, jolting some of the three-rum-and-cokes haze from her mind. The walk to her house, which was just a street away, would give her time to clear her head. She had only walked a hundred paces when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled with tipsy hands to unlock it and then stared, utterly bemused, at the text. She had expected an anxious message from Evan asking her when she would return. Instead, there was a single line:

**Aubrey, wake up.**

She shivered. There was no registered number for the text—not even a note to say the number was unknown, it was simply blank. As if the text had come from no-where. Before she could react further, another text arrived.

**Come back to me, Palarran, meleth.**

The words were not written in the blocky font her phone supplied, but rather a flowing script like handwriting. That word—Palarran—it pulled at Aubrey's subconscious, urging her to remember something,  _someone._ She recalled a day long ago, playing in the snow—a sword fight with her brother . . .

Furious, she threw the phone as hard as she could. It clattered to the pavement on the other side of the road and she could see even in the dim light that the screen was shattered beyond repair. Whatever it was, this force that seemed determined to intrude upon her life at the most random of moments, she resented it. She felt certain that whatever this was, it was trying to pull her away from her brother. She had to stick with him, siblings were meant to stick together—

_For the same reason you would do anything . . . for my brother._

The voice echoed in her mind and she screamed, sinking to the pavement, pressing her hands tightly over her ears.  _It's not real it's not real it's not real_ she whispered to herself, over and over, only delusions weren't meant to span ten years of life, occurring so sparingly, and the pavement swam before her eyes like a river in a dream.  _Maybe this is the delusion?_

Her mind echoed with the call, a desperate man chanting desperate words  _come back come back_ and she wanted to obey if only to ease the suffering in his voice, but she did not know how to, let alone where she was meant to return.

o0o

Aubrey's fingers flickered, twitched and then clenched into a fist. Ilye nearly fell out of her chair, so shocked was she by the movement.

"Aubrey? Can you hear me? Come on, mellon nin, I know that you are in there, I know that you are fighting." She said enthusiastically.

The sleeping girl said nothing, did nothing. Ilye laid her hand over the newly formed fist as if it was a bird's egg, fragile beneath her fingers. "Take your time," she told her friend. "We will be here when you are ready to wake."

o0o

Aubrey frowned. She teetered on the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, aware that something had roused her but not yet certain what it could be. Her pillow was comfortable beneath her cheek, her quilt tucked snugly around her. She didn't need the toilet, wasn't hungry or thirsty. She shifted and winced; there was a piercing ringing in her ears. Realising that is had to be the cause of her waking, she sat up, rubbing at her temples. Her head did not hurt beyond the ringing, though she decided that she would shut the window to block out the smoke that was drifting in.

She froze.

_Smoke._

The ringing in her ears was not some symptom, but the shrill wail of a smoke alarm.

_Where there is smoke, there is—_

"Fire!"

o0o

Haldir ran a hand through Aubrey's hair, smoothing it away from her face. Ilye had helped Earon to wash it that morning and though it was now dry it was still especially soft and fragrant beneath his touch.

"Ten days, now, you have slept," he murmured. "Are you there, meleth? Please give me some sign. Earon has said that the longer you are asleep, the less likely you are to ever wake. Please, Aubrey, I could not bear your loss. I—I was so hopeful when you gripped my hand, and then Ilye saw you move, but three days and you have been as still as the cold mountains.

"I have been spending every night by your side, I did not want you to be alone," he told her. "But—Lady Galadriel has told me that I cannot continue to spend as much time here. I have neglected my post, somewhat . . . left the running of the wardens to Rúmil and my other deputies. Palarran, I must entrust that you will forgive me if I come for only half of the night; perhaps I will sleep here so that you are not completely alone. Eru knows, there are enough empty beds."

He felt a flutter against his wrist and looked down, shocked. Her eyes were open.  _Her eyes were open._

"Aubrey? Aubrey!" He cried, gripping her shoulder with one hand and moving the other to her cheek. "Aubrey, can you hear me?"

She jerked on the bed, and his heart clenched. He saw that, though open, her eyes rolled back into her head showing only slivers of red-rimmed white. She was entirely unresponsive, only know she was seizing.

"Earon," he cried. "Earon, help!"

He was torn—he wanted to grab the healer from his bed and tug him bodily to Aubrey's side. At the same time, he was gripped with the terrible fear that this was it, that Aubrey was finally slipping away, and he knew that if these were her last moments he would spend them by her side.

o0o

A quick sprint around her house revealed that what the muffled noise of the smoke alarm revealed was true—the fire came from not from her own home, but from Evan's next door.

_Call 999._

The response was ingrained in her and she was glad of it because it gave her something concrete, something useful to do. Sudden realisation hit her like lightning and she sobbed out loud, for her landline had never worked and she'd left her shattered phone lying where it had landed on the pavement three days past.

Just as she had always been, she was alone in her defence of Evan. She shoved her feet into her rubber garden shoes—they'd never been used before; she had no talent at all for gardening—and struggled into a hoody and, snatching her key to Evan's house from the kitchen counter, she left her front door gaping open. She vaulted the short wall between their front gardens and fumbled to unlock his door, almost dropping her key twice in the process.

She shoved the door open and immediately stumbled back, gasping and coughing, recoiling from the thick smoke that billowed out of the door. Her every instinct screamed that she should turn away from the evident danger, run from the burning house. But  _Evan was inside._ She knew that he would be too scared to do anything—was probably hiding in the corner of his room, hoping that the fire would somehow go away. Dear Evan, he had never been able to save himself.

She bent low, remembering something about clear air near the floor, and ran into the burning house.

o0o

Earon hurried into the room and his eyes widened at what he saw. Aubrey jerked and shuddered in Haldir's arm. Half sat on the bed, he held her in his arms, trying desperately to hold her still. Her eyes rolled in her head and her fingers clenched and spasmed.

"Haldir," Earon called, drawing the ellon's attention. The Marchwarden looked up and Earon's heart sank. His eyes were wild with desperation and grief; Earon knew in that second that if he could not save the girl he would most likely deal with two deaths before long. "Haldir, I need you to hold her still, as still as you can hold her without hurting her."

For a moment Earon feared that he was too far gone to follow the instruction, but he blinked and then his arms shifted, tightened. He pinned the mortal's arms to her sides and pressed her back against his chest, creating a cage with his larger frame.

"Good," Earon praised him. "Now, I am going to hold her head against yours so that I can put a belt between her teeth, else she could bite off her tongue."

Haldir nodded. Earon nudged Aubrey's head into Haldir's, wincing when she spasmed just as he touched her, banging her skull against the Marchwarden's, but he did not seem to feel it. He placed the bit between her teeth, letting her bite down onto it and sparing her already bloody tongue.

"What now?" Haldir asked. "Please, what now?"

Earon sighed heavily. "There is no more that we can do, not whilst she is seizing. Release her now that we have saved her mouth; she will do herself harm fighting against you."

Haldir seemed reluctant to release her but laid her back down onto the bed nonetheless. "Will this kill her?" he asked.

Earon swallowed nervously. "I do not know."

o0o

The stairs creaked beneath her feet. She couldn't hear them over the sound of her heartbeat and the fire roaring downstairs, but she knew the stairs better than the ones in her own house. They were transformed—eerie orange light spilled up them, softer from the fire than from the streetlight outside Evan's house. Thick off-white smoke hung hauntingly in the air; it puzzled her, for Aubrey had always thought that the smoke from a house fire would be black.

The house was sweltering; her hoody was plastered to her with sweat she would have had trouble breathing in the heat even if it were not for the smoke.

"Evan?" she called out. She meant for her voice to carry, but she could do no more than croak. The smoke had scorched and parched her throat almost beyond use.

 _I am going to die,_ she thought.

She forged on up the stairs and came to the landing, half-falling into the bannister when a fit of coughing overtook her. Below her, there was a tremendous creak and then a thundering crash. She looked back and saw that the stairs had caved in on themselves. Terror renewed shot through her as her only route of escape from the burning building crumbled into dust before her eyes and was consumed by the fire below. She turned away from the raging orange blaze and darted into the one open doorway—Evan's room.

"Evan," she called again. "Evan!"

He did not reply, but it did not matter, because she could see him anyway. He sat with his back pressed into the corner of his bedroom, his quilt wrapped tightly around him even though the room was hotter than a sauna and his hair was plastered to his head. She saw his eyes flicker with recognition and saw him mouth her name, even though she could not hear him.

She ran to him, coughing and choking as she went, and fell down into his arms. "Aubrey," he croaked into her ear. "I'm scared, Aubrey."

She wrapped her arms tightly, fiercely around him. "I know," she said. "I know, sweetie." Unsaid,  _so am I._

"Are we going to die?" he asked her.

God, she didn't know what to do. She wanted to lie to him, tell him that help was on the way and they would be saved, would be rescued and everything would be okay. But there was no one coming and there was no way out. She couldn't bear to face the betrayal in his eyes when he realised she had lied to him. It was selfish, utterly selfish, but she couldn't bear Evan's last thoughts of her to be ones of betrayal.

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, we are going to die."

He shuddered and tightened his hold on her. "Why did you come? You could have left me."

"No," she shook her head. "No I couldn't."

o0o

She finally lay still after an agonisingly long time that was in reality perhaps five minutes or less. Haldir reached out to her but snatched his hand back at the last moment, as if afraid that to touch her would set off another seizure. Blood leaked from the corners of her lips where she had bitten her lips and tongue before Earon had slid the leather bit between her teeth.

"Haldir," Earon said softly. "This has weakened her greatly."

He bit down on his lip. He could see it—her breaths were more laboured and further apart, each one a little slower than the last. He felt that he was watching her slip away from him and he could do nothing to bring her back.

"No," he moaned softly, collapsing forward onto the bed. He rested his head against her abdomen, gripping her hand tightly in his. "Not now," he wept. "Not after everything."

Her breath slowed. Shuddered. Stopped.

o0o

Aubrey felt a quiet, calm acceptance steal over her in place of the blinding panic that had been her master for the majority of the night. She slid against the wall and drew Evan's head down into her lap, stroking his sodden hair softly. It was  _okay._ She had fulfilled her purpose to the best of her abilities; guided Evan to the end, and even if she had not saved him she had ensured he was not alone.

"Sleep," she urged him. It did not take much to get him to sleep; the smoke he had inhaled did most of the work for her. She cradled his head in her arms, using his sweat to wipe the soot that stained his pale skin. Her brother—her younger brother, in every practical sense, asleep in her arms. It made a strange kind of sense to her. She could feel her own lungs struggling to carry on; every breath was painful and laboured.

She realised as she wiped the soot from below Evan's nostrils that no breath stirred against her fingertips. The warmth in his skin was, she realised, artificially heat from the fire. His chest did not stir.

Evan was dead.

"Oh, baby brother," she moaned, new agony lancing through her. In a way it was good that he had gone first—he could not have borne her death—but she could not bear his, it turned out. She could not weep, the heat of the fire had stolen all of her tears, so instead she sang to him, her voice cracked and shattered but enough for a dead man.

As she sang, that damnable voice echoed in her mind but she pushed it away, ignoring its every implore.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward,"

**Aubrey, please don't go**

"Once there was a way to get back home."

**Not now, not after all we have done**

"Sleep pretty darling, don't you cry,"

**Palarran,** _**please** _

"And I will sing a lullaby."

She could sing no more. She gasped for air but there was none to be had, only cloying smoke that scorched her throat and made her retch.

She felt a  _tugging_ sensation, as if someone was trying to pull her from the room or her mind from her body, and she felt a moment of great reprieve.  _I am going to be saved._

But she could not abandon Evan, it was simply not within her to let his body slip from her arms.

**Ú-gwanno nín, Melethril.**

She could fight neither the dizzy, rising darkness nor the tugging voice any longer. She was so  _tired._ Quickly, softly, like a pebble disappearing into a river's torrent, Aubrey slipped away.

o0o

Haldir was numb. He could feel a growing void within him and he knew that all too soon it would fill with unimaginable pain and grief.

 _This is what you sought to spare me from, Orophin,_ he thought.  _Oh, how you have failed._

Movement stirred his hair and he froze. Hardly daring to believe, to hope, he raised his head. Aubrey's hand rested against the crown of his head, limp and devoid of strength but  _alive._

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to swallow around a growing thickness but found that he could not. "Palarran," he whispered, lifting the hand he held and pressing it fervently to his lips.

She stirred once more, her eyes half-open but lucid as much as he could see. "Hal—" she broke off. Her voice was rough and hoarse but unmistakably, she had tried to pronounce his name.

"I had thought you dead," he breathed. "You—you were  _gone._ For ten days you were gone."

"Been dreaming," she whispered. "But you were there. Could hear you."

"What did you dream of?" he encouraged her.

He saw a tear glitter in the corner of her eye. "My life . . . before.  _Evan."_

"What saddens you?" he asked her gently, running a comforting hand along her arm.

She blinked and tears traced the sides of her face, spilling into her hair. "I remember now," she choked. "I died in a fire.  _We_ died. Evan is dead."


	35. Chapter 35

Aubrey wasn't sure whether she was grieving. Eight long months had passed since she had arrived in Arda, since she and Evan had died, but to her mind their deaths were as close as her last breath. She _ached_ with the knowledge that Evan was dead. At the same time, though—so was she. It was hard to feel too stricken by the knowledge when she had not fully accepted it as real. Dying no longer felt like such a permanent thing now that she had lived through it. A small, quiet hope lived within her that Evan had been similarly transported to Middle Earth but she dare not give voice to the thought lest it be proved immediately wrong.

Though she had showed no further signs of ailment in the day since she had woken, Earon had yet to release her from his care. She sat cross-legged upon the bed she had laid in for so long, wanting nothing more than to walk through the forest once more, freely.

Earon cleared his throat and she looked up. He stood in the outer doorway of the talan with his arms folded neatly across his chest. "Hey, Earon," she murmured, lifting a hand in a small wave.

Aubrey liked Earon, not that she had met him whilst she was conscious. His manner was steady and calm yet he possessed an incredibly dry wit that never failed to make her laugh. "How are you, Aubrey?"

She huffed. "Is he still outside?" she asked.

Earon's brow quirked. "I assume you refer to our Marchwarden?"

Aubrey nodded.

"Then no, he is not. He left half an hour ago."

She breathed out a gusty sigh of relief. "Sorry," she said belatedly. "You must think I'm an awful person for avoiding him like this."

"I will thank you not to put words into my mouth; they do not fit. I think no worse of you for your decision," Earon said mildly.

"Did—did he stay with me? When I was . . . asleep?" she asked hesitantly.

"I had difficulty shifting him. Ilye sat with you from noon until dusk, Haldir the whole night and morning."

Aubrey's stomach sank a little lower. "Oh, God," she moaned. "I'm horrible."

Almost immediately after waking, she had burst into tears. Haldir, as over-wrought as she was and most likely near the end of his sanity had tried to take her into his arms. Instead of accepting the comfort he had offered her, Aubrey had yelled at him to leave her alone. When it became clear that she would only work herself up further, Earon had ushered a stunned, hurt Haldir from the room.

"I cannot make such a condemnation until I know your reasons for shunning Haldir." Earon told her. He came to sit beside her on the bed, folding on of his legs beneath him.

"I . . . I don't have the head space to sort out everything around Haldir right now," she said slowly. "I don't even want to think about what Orophin told me—about how loving me will kill him. I don't know if he loves me, but Orophin seemed very certain. I don't want to take that chance; I don't want to hurt him. But . . . but that isn't why I can't see him, not really. I trust Haldir to make his own choices, I think; my parents always showed me that love is a choice, and only you can make that choice for yourself. The reason I can't see Haldir has nothing to _do_ with Haldir—God, that just makes it worse, doesn't it? I can't see Haldir because seeing him makes me want to forget about my past life. I've already forgotten Evan once; I won't do it again. I need to remember how we died. I need to feel that pain, for Evan."

Earon frowned; he studied her eyes as if he was weighing the validity of her feelings. Finally, he said, "I have never observed this in a mortal before," he said. "I had thought that your kind spent all of their time looking forwards, forgetting the pains of life as much as possible. You have so little time."

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Aubrey said sullenly. "I guess that would be a more normal response, but Evan and I were never exactly normal."

"I am shocked," he said, deadpan.

Aubrey cracked a small smile. "Would you do me a favour, Earon?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Even more than saving your life?"

She scoffed. "You barely did anything," she said dismissively but took his hand and squeezed it to show him she appreciated his healing and his friendship. "Could you please tell Haldir that I appreciate everything he has done for me, but I cannot see him yet? I will find him when I'm ready; when I've made my peace with Evan's—yeah."

Earon nodded seriously. "I will gladly pass on your message."

o0o

Haldir sensed the presence of the Lady before he saw her. He did not turn though the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Her hand settled on his shoulder for a brief moment then was gone, like the brush of a butterfly's wings against a summer leaf.

"Dear Haldir," said Galadriel. "Your heart is heavy."

He nodded mutely.

"I feel your cares and soon shall your friends, your brother." Galadriel predicted.

He sighed heavily; his shoulders fell forwards. "I understand that Aubrey needs time to accept what has happened, but I cannot help but wish I was with her. I would wish to help her through this time."

"Your understanding does you credit, Marchwarden," the Lady smiled. "I know what it is to watch a loved one suffer and offer no aide."

She spoke, he knew, of her daughter Celebrían and the horrific fate that had befallen her. The attack on the elleth had shaken both Imladris and Lórien to their roots for pain was felt deeply by the elves, and lasted for an age.

Galadriel stepped forwards and turned to face him, meeting his eyes. "I know that it is not merely Aubrey's pain that you feel," she observed. "I cannot ignore the crimes Orophin has committed."

Haldir bowed his head. "He is banished," he said rigidly. "He will likely not return for many, many years—and if he does, I shall drive him away. I would not have him around Aubrey; certainly not while she grieves for her brother."

"Always you have upheld our laws, as surely as you protect our borders." Galadriel said. "Yet you speak your understanding of the grief Aubrey feels for Evan in the same breath as you renounce your own."

"Orophin is _not_ my brother," Haldir snapped. "He has made his choice and it has harmed us all. He would have killed me by his own hand if he had succeeded in taking Aubrey's life."

Galadriel's head tilted to the side. "Are you so sure of your feelings?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I love her, my Lady."

"I do not doubt that," she assured him. "But I think you underestimate your own strength to endure suffering."

He did not want to think about what Galadriel was implying, did not want to contemplate his reaction to Aubrey's death when she had only just awoken. "We shall see," he said fatalistically.

The Lady of Light gave him a long, searching look. He felt as if she held his fea in the palms of her lovely hands and weighed it there. "Your brother is not lost to you until you give up hope."

His posture stiffened. "Orophin was lost to me the second he decided upon this course."

"What of Rúmil? Is he to lose his brother as well?"

"Orophin ran away," Haldir said coldly. "He clearly doesn't care to remain here with his family. He has turned his back on us."

o0o

The northern plains felt far too exposed for him. Orophin was used to the constant, comforting whisper of leaves in branches, the creaking of great limbs. He was one with the Golden Wood; at his age it was second nature to reach out a hand to smooth bark and slide his mind into the tree's consciousness. He missed his forest, he missed his talan full of plants that spoke to him, loved him.

He missed his brothers.

For the first day after leaving Lórien, when his head had still spun with the realisation that Haldir would die because of Aubrey he had been furious with her. He'd hated her for the first time, really and truly hated her for the first time.

Then, he'd remembered the horror in her own eyes when he'd showed her Haldir's future. He'd remembered her relentless courage and perseverance on the trip to Imladris, her tenacity in her training. He'd remembered making her tea and teaching her Sindarin, being taught Westron in their easy conversations. His rage had slipped in tandem with the smudgy silhouette of Lórien beneath the horizon and he had been left with nothing but his guilt and his grief. He was haunted by the image of Aubrey lying slack and broken against the mirror. When he closed his eyes, he saw Haldir—saw Haldir filled with rage and disappointment and terrible sadness.

He'd fled north, following the Anduin. Eryn Galen stretched out to the east, an endless forest stretched further than the eye could hope to see. It would take him many, many weeks to reach the forest's northern tip, which had become a vague destination within his mind for lack of anywhere to actually go. Perhaps he was running as far away from Haldir as he could, or perhaps he simply did not know what to do.

He had considered travelling west to Arnor, he knew that the sons of Elrond worked with the Dúnedain rangers in their scourge against evil. He had no will to cross the mountains, though, and could certainly not have crossed the northern peaks so late in the year. The cold outside of Lórien's sheltered borders was always an unwelcome surprise to him; easily bearable but just unpleasant enough to increase his misery.

Orophin settled down into the hummocky grass with a soft sigh. He had been walking solidly for two days, stopping only to eat and drink but resting, trance-like, as he walked. He could have gone on for days more but he took the opportunity to rest whilst the sky and plains were clear. He dug his fingers down into the grass and let his mind slip into the organic consciousness there. He flinched at what he found—the vast plains were interlinked and _bleeding._ In the distant north the plants were frost-scorched and dying, to the south in the lands of Rohan the grass, moss, clover, a hundred other plants, were torn and cut by farmers and horses alike.

Far more alarming was the pain he could feel just a mile or so away—he could probably have heard the commotion, had he strained hard enough over the wind. Near to the border of Eryn Galen, booted feet churned the ground into a mire, blood and water mixing in the soil. It was more skirmish than battle, but attuned to the earth as Orophin was—had always been—he could sense the painful weight of the struggle as if he felt the feet on his own skin. Some footsteps were heavy and careless, and where they fell black blood stained the floor. Orcs. But there was also the light touch of his own people and the anguish of the forest as it saw its children attacked.

Orophin sprang up and raced away, drawing his long-knives from his belt. He was invigorated by the sudden purpose he had found—fighting for the protection of borders was what he did, it was his duty and his job. The last few weeks he had spent in a horrific purgatory, switching between fear for his brother and the guilt of planning to harm Aubrey. The swift movement of his feet skimming the ground on the way to a fight was a balm to his fea after all that had happened in Lórien.

He reached the skirmish swiftly and dove immediately into the fray. Two orcs found their deaths upon the ends of his daggers almost instantly; the cross-ways movement of the knives splattering rancid, pitch-black blood over his face. The elven guard of Eryn Galan were surprised by his arrival but quickly took it within their stride and nodded brief thanks to him.

Between Orophin and the party of guards—five ellon and an elleth—the remaining orcs were quickly dispatched. Orophin looked mournfully down at the mire beneath his feet; the plants that had lived in that place just short minutes ago were now crushed and bruised beyond healing, their root systems drowned in deadly blood.

"You are of Lórien," called one of the guard. Orophin nodded, watching the man scan his form—he wore his uniform tunic and cloak, easily marking him as a warden of Lórien. He thought bitterly that he did not deserve the proud reputation of his order any longer.

 _The direct mirror-sight is too much for a mortal_ . . . he shook his head in the manner of one banishing flied. "Yes. Orophin is my name."

"I know this name," the guard said. The silver detailing on his cloak marked him as a captain. "You are brother to the Marchwarden, Haldir, are you not?"

 _You are no brother of mine._ "Yes," Orophin bit out. The word stuck in his throat.

"What brings you to Eryn Galen? Your assistance was most welcome." The Captain went on. His voice was warm and friendly and Orophin both marvelled at it and despised it—didn't this ellon know that he was a monster?

"I . . ." he trailed off, caught between honesty and the sudden, desperate need to be forgiven, to be liked and welcomed. Was it so wrong of him to seek out safe harbour? "I am travelling the realms. I had thought to stay in Eryn Galen for some years; I have never entered the Great Green Wood, yet my brother Haldir has told me often of its majesty."

The Captain smiled. "We would be delighted to welcome you, mellon. Please, let us escort you with us. We were about to return to the city when we caught the scent of these orc." He turned to his unit and gestured at the slumped orc bodies. "Pile the carcasses away from the tree line and burn them," he said. "I will not have their filth besmirch this forest."

 _Oh, mellon,_ Orophin thought to himself, _you have welcomed another kind of filth with open arms._

Before he could speak, however, the Captain turned. The Captain in front of him and the other five behind, Orophin was led into Eryn Galen.


	36. Chapter 36

Five days passed, slowly, like the slow pour of treacle from a wooden spoon. Aubrey spent her days in the solitary peace of her talan but quickly came to hate the walls she resided within. She stared up at her bedroom wall, reading and re-reading the message there until her eyes blurred.

_Golden are the leaves of Lórien._

That message was meant to be her reclaiming, her mark upon the talan to wipe away the intrusion of the trespasser; it was meant to be the physical representation of her friends' love for her. She could barely look at it, now, without feeling sick.

She paced forwards, letting her feet scuff against the floor. She laid her hand upon the smooth wood, overlaying the handprint Orophin had left behind. The woad stain had seeped deeply into the wood, leaving his presence forever ingrained on her wall. His handprint was larger than her hand and she could see an outline of each of his fingers and the side of his palm around the edge of her skin. His middle finger was positioned slightly to the left of where hers naturally fell; a lighter patch in the woad showed where his palm had been calloused by the grip of a sword. She dug her nails into the wood and breathed out a short, sharp sigh, then pounded the wall with her fist.

" _Why?"_ she demanded, sinking to her feet. She pressed her forehead to the wall—Evan had always done that when things were too much, as if by pressing hard enough the weight of the wall would force everything else out of his head—and felt tears prickle in her eyes. "Why did you have to hurt me? Why didn't you just _tell_ me? _I would have gone."_

Her heart broke over the entire situation. She was furious with Orophin—understandably, in her opinion—but equally she missed him. She wanted to sit down and sort through all of her tangled feelings but overwhelming every other issue, the mammoth in her mind, was Evan's death. Her breath shuddered and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She recalled with perfect clarity the awful moment of realisation when Evan's life had slipped away in her arms. Her grief made her anger towards Orophin troubling—because if his death, Rúmil's death, could have revived Evan, she would have wielded the sword herself.

It was simply too much to think about.

The dull noise of a fist on wood caught her attention and she looked up. Rúmil stood framed in the door. His expression was flat and hard, so unlike his typical joviality that Aubrey couldn't help but pay attention to him.

"What do you want?" she demanded bluntly.

He snorted, but there was no humour in the sound. "I want a great many things. I want you to stop moping. I want Haldir to do anything other than train, or plan patrols. I . . ." his voice trailed away, then his face hardened and he said firmly, "I want Orophin to come home."

"Stop _moping?"_ she echoed incredulously. "My brother is dead."

"One of my brothers is gone, I know not where. He called my attention to the fact that my other brother will be dead soon as well, thanks to his love for you," Rúmil said flatly.

Aubrey flinched. "I never wanted that," she said defensively. "I didn't ask him to fall in love with me."

"Of course you did not want it," Rúmil assured her, softening slightly. "Yet you have his love nonetheless—will you waste it moping here?"

"I'm not ready," she murmured. "I still haven't sorted my head out."

He gave her a long look that somehow managed to sum up every one of her misgivings, each of the tangled, riotous thoughts that had careened through her head for the past fourteen nights. "It has been two weeks, and you seem no closer to being 'sorted out'. Will your head ever be right, if all you do is stare at a wall, a wall that causes you pain?"

She shivered and looked away from his burning gaze; though his eyes were green where Haldir's were almost silver, the look could have been in the elder ellon's eyes. "I don't know if I can face anyone," she whispered. "They all know that Haldir loves me, and it will kill him."

Rúmil crouched beside her and his hand settled on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I love my brother," he told her. "And I think that you do too, even if you do not know it yet." He forced her to meet his eyes and said, "Allow Haldir the dignity of his own choices, Aubrey. He knows what it is to love a mortal woman; he is not a fool. Do not take love from him because of fear."

"I—I don't know . . ."

Rúmil's hand tightened on her shoulder. "You will never feel ready. A wound cannot heal if you pick constantly at the stitching; it must be bandaged and allowed time. Go out there and be with us, your friends. Put everything that hurts aside until it no longer hurts quite so much; only then can you hope to understand what you feel and deal with it."

Aubrey wanted to believe him, wanted so _badly_ to trust in his advice and let him lead her away from her miserable solitude. " _Orophin_ used to give me advice," she muttered. "He smiled at me and comforted me and at the same time he was planning to kill me. How do I know you're not doing the same? You love Haldir too."

He gave her a slightly lopsided smile. "Haldir is half my father," he said. "I have never known another. I suppose I trust his judgement more; he has never led me astray. I trust his choices. And besides—I _did_ share my horse with you."

Rúmil had a way of saying exactly what she needed to hear and making her believe him. A small laugh bubbled through her lips and she bit it off before it could become a sob. She was reminded suddenly of the way she used to help Evan, how she used to find him when he was in his darkest moods and slowly, slowly, draw him back. "I want my brother," she gasped, and pitched forwards into Rúmil's arms.

He pulled her close. "So do I," he whispered into her hair. "So do I."

o0o

The further they walked into Eryn Galen, the more disturbed Orophin became. The shadows beneath the trees seemed to stretch and darken and when he brushed his fingertips against the bark of a tree, the trailing fronds of fern or bracken, he felt the plants shrink from him. His guides exchanged weighted glances from the corners of their eyes that he only just caught, flinching away from the long shadows and whatever stirred within them.

At last, when they came upon an oak tree that should have been proud and spreading even within the depths of winter but was withered and sickly, dark stains crawling up its branches, Orophin stopped.

He pressed a hand to the tree's bark and forced himself to concentrate, shoving aside any thoughts of his brothers, of Aubrey, of what he had done . . .

The tree was almost silent. Darkness greeted his fëa where there should have been the warmth and vivid green of life. Gritting his teeth Orophin allowed the brightness of his fëa to fill the hollow where the spirit of the tree should have been. He recoiled at what he saw. The tree was there, but it was swathed and choked with sliding, viscous darkness so thick that nothing could escape. Orophin felt the tree's agony resonate within him and pulled back sharply, clutching at his temples with his free hand.

The captain of the guard regarded him with something between distrust and hope. "The forest has grown sick," he said steadily. "But we have heard of you, and your skill with plants. Perhaps you can aide where our swords have failed."

"This forest is not sick," Orophin said hopelessly, "it is dying."

o0o

Haldir clenched Curmegil's grip tighter and flexed his arm. He swung the sword in a clean overarm movement and ducked an imaginary counter-strike. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he'd long since discarded his tunic. The training field was entirely deserted; dusk was setting in and all of his wardens were with their families in their telain, or at the dining hall. Haldir curled his lip disparagingly; he had no family to turn to. Gone was Orophin and Rúmil was pulling away from him with every passing day. As for Aubrey—a fortnight since she had woken, and still not a word from her.

He swallowed thickly and Curmegil fell to his side. There was only so much comfort to be found in the repetitive motion of training; he had sweated out as much as he could and what was left, he could battle with no sword.

He sat heavily upon a long bench and wiped his face with his damp tunic. He slid Curmegil into its sheath and set the sword down beside him on the bench. He let his head fall into his hands and sank forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. A shiver ran over his skin; the winter dusk air was cool and now that he had stopped exercising, the slight breeze was cold on his bare chest and back. He shrugged back into his shirt which did little to warm him, sweat-dampened as it was.

Before him, at the far tree line, he heard the unmistakable sounds of undergrowth parting. He looked up sharply and his breath caught in his throat. Two weeks of misery prevented him from calling out to her, but his lips shaped her name regardless— _his_ name for her, the name he had whispered over her sleeping form a thousand times.

_Palarran._

His chest was still heaving from the exertion of his training. Memories whirled through his mind—her slumped body against the mirror; holding her seizing body; her bleary eyes upon waking; her screaming at him to _go, get out, go away._ The agony of being sure that he had lost her.

Aubrey stepped forward into the clearing. Her hands were fisted in the hem of her tunic and she played nervously with the embroidered border. "Hello, Haldir," she murmured. The sound carried on the soft breeze and he breathed in sharply.

He tried to speak again; his mouth was dry. " _Palarran,_ " he finally croaked.

His voice seemed to break something in her. Her face crumpled and she sprinted forwards, hurling herself at him and banding her arms tightly around his chest. He did not move, too stunned to do anything but keep himself upright. Aubrey rubbed a soothing hand down his spine. "I'm sorry it took me so long," she whispered. He felt her lips stir against his chest. "I couldn't get my head around—I just couldn't think."

"What changed?" he asked softly, finally bringing his arms up around her. His fingers slipped easily into her soft hair and he felt every muscle relax.

She shrugged. "Rúmil talked to me. Made me see things a different way."

"Then thank the Valar for Rúmil," he smiled. "I _missed_ you, Aubrey."

"Evan is dead," she told him unnecessarily.

He nodded slowly. "I am sorry for it, I truly am."

She was silent for a long moment, before finally she said, "I'm dead as well. Do you think—is there any chance Evan could be here as well?"

He found the possibility too unlikely to entertain, but he could not bear to break her heart. "You can only hope, meleth."

She stiffened and he cursed his word choice—of course she would understand that endearment, and all of the weight it carried with it. "You—" she did not proclaim his love; it hung between them with such presence it was almost physical, there was no point in voicing a truth so evident. "You are going to die," she said instead.

He sighed softly and loosened his hold on her, working his way out of her arms and leading her back to the bench where he pulled her down beside him. Curmegil's hilt pressed, cold and unforgiving, into his thigh. "We will all die, one day," he said practically.

"Is that meant to comfort me?" she demanded, some of her usual fire touching her words.

He supressed a small smile. "Forgive me. I only meant—well, even elves do not always live forever. Our friend Celedan is proof enough of that, no? I would rather meet my death willingly, at the end of a long, _long_ life, having known the love of the woman I adore than on a cold battle field."

"I don't want to be the cause of your death," she whispered.

He squeezed her hand. "You would be gone anyway, you would feel no pain."

"But I would live the rest of my life knowing that my death would bring yours."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I know. I know, Aubrey, and I'm sorry. But allow me this. Allow me the choice of loving you."

He could not bring himself to open his eyes, so sure was he that she would pull away and leave him alone once more. Instead he was startled by the warm touch of her fingers against his cheek. His eyes blinked open and he turned into her touch until their gazes met. Life and warmth danced in her eyes for the first time in almost a month. "Kiss me," she said.

He grinned.


	37. Chapter 37

_Kiss me._

Her own words echoed in her head and for a second, she worried that it was too sudden, that neither of them were ready for it—but then Haldir grinned, wide and beatific.

Their first kiss had been a slow, hesitant exploration; the timid enquiry of swans preening one another at first meeting; the slow dance of unknown shadows blending for the first time. Their second kiss had been a reaffirmation, a reassurance that they would not be swayed by any threat. This kiss was the strike of a match. Haldir took her chin in his fingertips and turned her lips to his, kissing her firmly and with immediate passion.

Aubrey gasped against his lips and he used this opportunity to deepen the kiss. She half-rose from the bench, determined to get closer to him. His hand left her face and settled an inch lower than her waist, his thumb resting below her naval and his little finger dipping below her hipbone.

"Come here," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. He leaned against the back of the bench and she settled one knee between his legs, resting her weight on his thigh. Part of her wondered how far she wanted this to go. All of her wondered what she could do to his voice if she bit his lip _just so,_ gently, with the slightest pressure and a promise of more to come, more to give. He moaned deep in his throat and she felt the vibration of the noise where one of her hands pressed against his chest.

He pulled away from her lips and kissed the side of her neck, then paused, waiting for assent. She nodded haphazardly, enthusiastically, tilted her head to the side to grant him better access to her throat. He did not try to leave any mark, did not suck or bite in any way as past, human lovers had—he pressed long, heartfelt, open mouthed kisses to her skin, following the hidden path of her carotid. His saliva evaporated on her neck, and the contrast between the coolness there and the burning heat of his palms pressed to her hip, her lower back, had her shaking in his arms. Never before had she reacted so violently to such little stimulation.

His hand rose from her hip and skimmed the underside of her left breast. "May I?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, she noted triumphantly.

"Please," she managed, her own voice slightly breathy. "Be my—guest."

She was incredibly thankful of her choice of clothing, then. Instead of the simple tunics that had become her want, she had chosen to wear a long blouse that fastened all the way down the front. Haldir's fingers went to the first button and then stopped. Faintly dazed, she shook her head and met his eyes. _Ah._ His silvery eyes were fixed directly on hers, _waiting,_ glimmering with arousal. He undid the fastening and, holding her gaze, dipped his head and kissed the skin exposed.

"Oh my God," she gasped. Heat flashed through her; it was both the fire that had killed her and the warming sun, and then his hands were on the second button and she lost all track of thought.

He followed the same pattern all the way to her stomach, easing her off the bench and kneeling before her to unbutton each fastening and kiss the skin revealed. She slipped the shirt from her shoulders herself and sank to the floor in front of him. The faced each other on their knees and stared, heatedly and unblinking, for half a heartbeat. Temptation proved too much and Haldir reached for her, drawing her in once more. He kissed her at the same time as his hand came up, cupping the swell of her breast. He might have moaned at the contact but so did she, loudly enough that she could not hear his own response. His hand tightened almost to the point of pain but quickly loosened. Aubrey tugged at the lacings of Haldir's own tunic. He pulled away and tugged the shirt over his head, dropping it on top of hers.

Aubrey edged closer to him, let herself relish the feel of his bare chest pressed against hers. She trailed her fingertips across his stomach; her fingernails left a trail of shivers behind them and she saw with great satisfaction that Haldir's breathing was hitching and unsteady. His skin glowed in the gathering dusk, still slightly sweaty from the intense training he had just finished. She thought that Michelangelo would have given anything to carve his likeness into marble; would have tossed aside his David for just a chance to glimpse Haldir.

"You—are beautiful," Haldir said haltingly. His hand still cupped her breast and his expression was reverent as he took in her form.

Aubrey smiled. "I was going to say the same about you," she admitted. She had to agree with him, though. Long hours of training had removed the spare flesh that had once softened her stomach; she was lean and powerful now. Though her muscles didn't have quite the definition that Haldir's had, she was proud of the taught skin and the firm muscle that lay underneath; even more proud of the hours she had spent achieving it and the skills she had gained along the way.

Haldir laughed softly. She kissed him, still laughing. There was nothing better, she learned, than the feeling of another person's laughter in her mouth. She ran her hands over the broad planes of his back until her fingers brushed his breeches. Without pulling away from his lips, she slid her hand down over his backside. She felt him swallow and the hand on her breast began to knead softly. "Like that," she encouraged him, pulling away from his kiss.

He bent his head, resting his forehead against her collar bone. She felt his warm breath against the top of her breast before suddenly his lips were there, kissing the skin between her breasts and then tracing a slow, torturously slow path to her nipple. His thumb brushed her other nipple and she jerked like a plucked cello string. His lips were a _millimetre_ away from where she really wanted them.

"Wait," she gasped.

Haldir retreated, withdrawing hands and lips from her flushed skin. He kept on hand on the base of her spine, but then she was still clutching at his backside. "Too much?" he asked mildly.

Aubrey swallowed thickly and blinked three times. "No," she said finally. "I was enjoying myself very much. I simply thought that our first time probably shouldn't be in a forest glade anyone could walk into."

Haldir stared at her for a second, then threw his head back and laughed. "But, Palarran," he chuckled, "some of the most fun can be had when someone may happen upon you at any moment."

 _Exhibitionist, huh?_ She thought. _Never would have guessed._ She ran her hands back up his spine to rest more innocently on his broad shoulders. He shivered with the movement. "Rúmil. Imagine Rúmil walking in on us."

Haldir grimaced. He reached back and handed her blouse to her. "I concede, that would have unpleasant circumstances."

Aubrey pulled her blouse back on and buttoned it loosely down the front. She slid back into Haldir's arms, resting her head upon his chest. "We need to talk," she told him.

He nodded and settled back against the bench. "Indeed, we do."

"If this—relationship—is going to work, I think we need rules," she said firmly.

Haldir quirked a brow. "What would you suggest?"

"Well—I can't live in my old talan any more, not after everything. I don't feel safe there. But I don't want to move in with you," she said quickly.

His arms tightened infinitesimally around her. "Why not?"

"Because if I run to you now, then you become a safe harbour, not someone I'm in an equal relationship with. I don't want this to be me depending on you to keep me safe. That's not a relationship—or certainly not one I want to be in. It fulfils far too many stereotypes in my world," she said wryly. "Plus . . . I know what it's like to have someone depend on you completely. I loved Evan, _God,_ I loved him so much; but I was frustrated with him more often than not. I resented him, sometimes. I don't want you to resent me."

Haldir pulled away, affronted. "I would never—"

"Yes," she said implacably. "You would."

He frowned deeply, but did not argue. "Where will you live, then?"

"Ilye has offered me a room in her talan," she mused. "But I don't think I want to depend on her, either. No; Earon and Lady Galadriel spoke to me about where I could live. They said I could live with you, Ilye, or occupy Orophin's talan. Galadriel said it technically belongs to you, now."

Haldir stiffened. "Why would you want to—?"

"I don't hate him," she said softly. "I don't think I even blame him. I would have done anything to protect my brother."

"He tried to _kill_ you," Haldir said furiously.

Aubrey nodded. "Yes, he did. But he failed. Besides, his talan is a lot nicer than mine. And someone has to look after all of his plants."

Haldir did not quite smile, but his eyes lightened. "You are terrible with plants," he said.

She shrugged, grinning. "Well, he _did_ try to kill me."

Haldir observed her for a long second, his head tilted to the side, before finally nodding. "If it will make you happy, then I do not see why you should not have the talan. Is that all you wanted to discuss—I was not quite finished kissing you," he grinned.

Aubrey shoved his reaching hand away. "You're incorrigible," she told him, giggling. She sobered and said, "I wanted to ask about training."

"What about it?" Haldir asked, nonplussed.

"Well, can you still train me?"

"Why should I not?"

She shrugged. "Favouritism?" she offered. "I don't know, in my world people would be funny about you training me."

"I trained both of my brothers personally. It behoves me to train you to the best of your ability so that you are able to defend yourself in any situation," he said.

"I can't argue with that," she reasoned.

He smiled. "Come here, Palarran."

This kiss was fire, but it was also a promise.

o0o

The condition of the forest improved the further they walked, Orophin noted, but still the death and decay they had traversed to the south troubled him.

"When did this darkness appear?" he asked the captain, who had introduced himself as Alcarnor.

"Six months past, at least," Alcarnor sighed. "Seven, eight months I would say the first trees began to die."

Orophin stilled. He was certain that if he was cut then, his blood would have frozen on his skin, so cold did he feel. _Aubrey appeared eight months ago, almost to the day._ Old fury stirred; was it possible that her arrival had caused this damage, this destruction to his beloved plants? And now he was far away from Lórien whilst she was free to wreak the same destruction there! _I should have killed her when I had the chance,_ he thought furiously.

Alcarnor touched his shoulder. "Orophin, are you well?"

Orophin shook his head to clear it. "I . . . I am merely troubled by what you say."

Alcarnor nodded. "Understandably! Make haste, mellon; soon we shall reach the city. The King will speak with you, I am certain—the input of Lórien will be well received."

"Of course," Orophin agreed, falling back into step beside Alcarnor. This, then, was his chance for redemption! He had been wrong to falter in his belief; he had known instinctively that Aubrey must be causing harm from the minute he had bonded with her and Haldir in Fangorn. He would not let himself be swayed once more. Perhaps, if he explained the situation to King Thranduil, the Elvenking would be willing to assist him. No matter what latent fondness he held for the girl in his heart, Orophin would be strong. He would eradicate the mortal with the help of Eryn Galen, before it was too late for the forest—and his brother.

o0o

Haldir was silent as he led her through the city. The path they followed was faintly familiar—Aubrey remembered following Orophin the same way, all those months ago when Celedan was newly dead, and Orophin's friendship had been a beacon to her. He had been the first of the brothers to truly welcome her to Lórien. Her eyes prickled and she blinked, dispelling tears before they could fall.

Beside her, Haldir's steps were tight and stiff; she realised he must have known the pathway like the back of his hand. She grasped his hand and twined their fingers together. He did not speak, but squeezed her hand gratefully. She felt a fine thread of guilt wind through her consciousness for separating the brothers, however unintentionally. They parted once more when the path became too narrow, Aubrey falling into step three paces behind Haldir. He jogged down a steep flight of stairs carved into the sloping branch of the mallorn tree that supported Orophin—Aubrey's—talan. The talan rested in the fork were the stairway branch met the main trunk.

Haldir paused at the door, his hand resting in inch higher and two inches to the right of the centre. The angle of his wrist and the casual flick of his eyes told Aubrey that the placement of his hand was familiar; he had pushed open this door thousands of times.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Aubrey nodded and rubbed his shoulder blade soothingly. Everything in her was telling her that this was the right decision. "I am. I have to find my own way, be independent. I spent too long being responsible for someone else before myself; I can't put that burden on you or Ilye."

He dipped his head. "Very well."

The door swung open silently. Though night had fallen, the inside of the talan was bright. Moonlight spilled through the large window on the other side of the room—it occupied the full wall, unusual for a Lórien talan, Orophin must have installed it for his plants—and glimmered off the leaves of the gathered flora. Haldir paused at the doorway, seemingly unable to enter his brother's old home.

"Orophin told me that he could speak to them—that they spoke to him. Can you hear them?" Aubrey wondered.

Haldir shook his head. "All elves have a connection with them—I am able to slip into the consciousness of the forest fairly easily, myself—but to speak with them is a rare gift. Orophin was always unusually connected with the forest, with the plants. The bed chamber is through there," he went on, gesturing to a closed door. "There is a bathing room beside the bed chamber. The kitchen and larder are on the other side."

Aubrey nodded, taking his farewell for what it was. "I'll start sorting his things out tomorrow; is there anywhere for me to keep them safe for him?"

Haldir's jaw worked. "Burn them, for all I care."

She flinched. She knew what it was to watch beloved possessions curl and turn into so much ash before the fury of fire. "You're angry with him," she said stiffly. "I understand that. But you don't mean that, Haldir, I know you don't."

"I mean exactly that," he said firmly.

"I've looked around your talan," she reminded him. "You have kept a tunic of Orophin's for over two thousand years—you _don't mean it."_

For a long moment she thought he might persist in fighting her, before his shoulders slumped. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I am not yet ready to face my brother's faults, it would seem. It is hard for me to reconcile the elfling he was, the ellon I thought he had become, with what he has shown himself to be."

Aubrey nodded sagely. "I'll talk to Rúmil about taking care of his stuff," she said. "Goodnight, Haldir."

Before she could close the door, the Marchwarden touched her cheek lightly. She turned and his eyes softened when they met hers. "Goodnight, meleth," he murmured, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

Aubrey watched him go with a smile on her just-kissed lips. Long after his silhouette, crowned with silvery hair, had disappeared into the night, she stared off over the forest. Pale blue-white lanterns strategically lit the city as if stars had been caught in the mallorn branches and burned softly on beside the leaves.

With a quiet sigh, Aubrey turned. She pulled the door closed behind her and looked around the talan for a long moment. She estimated there were over five hundred plants just in this room—almost certainly more.

"Orophin loved you all so much," she said, then felt faintly foolish for talking to plants. Orophin had told her that they talked to him, though, so perhaps they understood. "I'm pretty sure he still hates me, but I won't hate him. I'm going to try and look after you all, for him. For me as well, I suppose."

Nothing but silence greeted her. Aubrey meandered across to the small, flowered shrub that Orophin had once told her liked her. "Hello again," she murmured, stroking the soft leaves. "I guess you end up being mine after all."

The plant did not answer, but she had the faintest sensation of some movement against her fingertips. Not physically there, but perhaps the memory, the _idea_ of a pulse. Aubrey smiled. The forest seemed to accept her touch.


	38. Chapter 38

Aubrey woke early the next morning—perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the new talan, but the faint, stirring remnants of a _heated_ dream and the uncomfortable, unpleasant slickness against her thighs told her that perhaps Haldir's kiss had fired her up far more than she had realised. She threw back the thick quilt with a huff, letting cool morning light play over her skin. She needed to get laid. It had been _far_ too long.

She rose slowly, languidly, half savouring the lazy morning alone and half finding her way around Orophin's— _her_ —talan for the first time. There truly were plants on every available surface, but as she wandered through the short, well-lit hallways Aubrey grew to appreciate their verdant presence more and more. She felt a bit like a foster mother in an odd way, certainly she felt overly responsible for Orophin's left behind, assorted flora. She thought guiltily back to the last house plant she'd attempted to keep; the 'hardy' succulent had lasted for just a month.

"When do you need watering?" she wondered. She knew that some plants needed watering every day—it had already been weeks since Orophin had left. Had she inadvertently killed some of his beloved charges already? "God," she moaned, sinking to the floor. "I'm a plant murderer. Serial offender."

"My, that does sound grim."

Aubrey shrieked and stumbled backwards on her hands and knees. Standing above her in the doorway, Rúmil doubled over, laughing. "Can't you knock?" she demanded furiously. "I was grieving for lost plants."

"I _had_ thought the talan empty," Rúmil said. "You will forgive me barging in."

"I moved in," Aubrey said succinctly. "What can I do for you?"

Rúmil eyed her for a lengthy moment. She felt weighed by his gaze and remembered not for the first time that Orophin had _two_ brothers and Rúmil had every right to object to her presence in his absent brother's abode. "Then I had best show you where the tank is," he said finally.

"The tank?" she questioned, but Rúmil was already striding past her. He led her confidently through the twisting hallways—the varied plants that grew from pots on the floor and hung from the ceilings made the talan seem somehow far bigger than it was—into a small, humid room at the top of the talan. The room was lit by a small, high window and contained nothing but a large wooden box, perhaps a metre square.

Rúmil lifted the lid of the tank carefully. "Here," he said, gesturing her forward with his free hand.

Aubrey leaned over the dark water. Though she could clearly see the dimensions of the box from its exterior she had sensation of incredible depth looking into the still water. "What is this?"

"This is a water tank that Orophin constructed when he first moved into this talan, some four hundred years ago—it has been well maintained, fear not. Every one of his plants is linked to this tank—there are pipes through the walls, you see, that lead into the pots. Orophin fitted valves in the pipes and engineered them to work with gravity—you need only lift this lever here, for about thirty seconds each morning, and the correct amount of water will be delivered to each plant." Rúmil explained. "I . . . I have been watering them since Orophin—" he stopped and swallowed.

Aubrey laid a hand on his forearm. "This is ingenious," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me; I'm glad I won't kill all of Orophin's plants. And Rúmil . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he left, and that I'm putting Haldir in danger. If I could make it any other way—"

He set the lid back over the tank and took her hand in his. "Do not apologise, lovely Aubrey," he said, firmly, softly. "I know what Orophin did and it horrifies me, _he_ horrifies me. I would have stopped him by any means." She thought he was going to say more, but he instead shook his head in the manner of one shaking off a bad dream. He smiled, broadly if slightly shakily. "I must go."

o0o

The gates of Thranduil's great woodland realm shut behind Orophin with a soft, muted _thud_ that echoed through the cavernous space spread before him. His breath caught in his throat; the outside of the looming gates had been an impressive sight to him, but _this_ place was unlike anything he had ever seen. The roots of the great trees that crowned the hills above him wove through the seemingly limitless cavern to where, hundreds of feet below, a rushing river flooded the cavern's floor. Orophin could feel the vitality of the place surrounding him; the trees clamoured for his attention for, as healthy as they were, they felt the pain and suffering of their brethren so close by, and were horrified by it, as horrified as he was.

Orophin was brought from his musings by the sight of a familiar face by the nearest branching root, which formed an upward-arching path. "Legolas," he called, a small smile touching his careworn face. " _Mellon nin!"_

The Prince met his smile with an answering expression, though far brighter and less troubled than Orophin's. "I had heard you were coming to us," he said, walking to meet to weary warden of Lórien. "I came to meet you and find out your purpose."

Orophin dipped his head, his mood souring. "I must speak of my purpose to the King before anyone else, my Prince," he said apologetically.

Legolas squeezed his shoulder with easy familiarity. "Peace, friend," he said mildly. "I will take you to my father myself."

They went directly, Orophin stopping only to shed his muddy travelling cloak. He felt a starburst of sensation as soon as he touched a foot to the root-pathway. This tree was _old_ , almost as old as his beloved mallorn at home in Lórien, and it held such memory in it that Orophin nearly sank, overwhelmed, to his knees. There was conflict within this tree, he sensed, this was a life that had watched both the most intense of joy and the greatest depths of sorrow. Reminding himself of the terrible price the elves or Eryn Galen had paid in the war just after his birth, Orophin was not surprised at the tree's great complexity of feeling.

"Are you well, Orophin?" Legolas asked him, turning half around to meet his eyes.

He nodded. "Quite well, thank you."

Legolas's eyes narrowed with a grin. "Are you struck dumb by the awe of my home? I told you, did I not, that it was the equal, if not surpassor, of Caras Galadhon?"

Old pride stirred within him and he could not help by negate the Prince's jibe. "There is not a place in the world the equal of my home, Legolas," he said dryly. "No, I was merely . . . connecting."

"Ah, yes—forgive me, I had forgotten your incredible sensitivity to the world." Sudden excitement dawned in Legolas's eyes and his paces quickened. "Perhaps you can help us! I am sure Alcarnor will have told you of the problems in the southern woods."

"He did not need to," said Orophin, "I felt the devastation myself."

"Truly? All the way from Lothlórien?"

Orophin clenched his left fist beneath the folds of his long tunic. "No. I was—away from Lórien anyway; I encountered Alcarnor's patrol at your borders and sensed the sickness then."

"Why did you leave Lórien?" Legolas wondered.

 _Because I had no choice. For I was forced from my home by the machinations of an evil creature, a minion of Morgoth himself. Because I betrayed my brother._ "Haldir had spoken so often of the grandeur of Eryn Galen that I felt I could delay a visit no longer," he said easily. "I recently travelled to Imladris and I found myself restless on my return; Haldir can do without my services on the marches for a time, so I chose to travel here. I am glad, now, that I did; perhaps I can be of service to you and the King."

Legolas nodded. "Let us hope so."

The root they traversed had met a cluster of others and it was on this broad platform that they came to a standstill. Before them, two guards both armed and armoured bowed to their Prince and unbarred the path, revealing the throne chamber of the woodland realm.

Orophin was fascinated almost despite himself; though the platform hung suspended by roots in the centre of a vast cavern, which itself led off to many others, it gave the impression of both a vast space and an intimate chamber. The throne was magnificent and slightly startling to Orophin, for the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood had no such symbols in their talan. The antlers of a great wood-elk, each one of them taller than he was by half again, crested the throne and the ellon who sat upon it wore a crown of similar design. King Thranduil was tall even for an ellon-taller than Haldir, which was a rare feat. His hair was pale as was common of the Silvan elves, but his bearing and the noble lines of his face were not alike his woodland kin - the King had been a stranger to his people once, as Galadriel and Celeborn had once been foreign to the Galadhrim.

King Thranduil stood languidly. Crimson robes fell smoothly from his shoulders, the same colour as the holly berries that tipped his thorny crown, shining against his pale hair like drops of blood upon snow. He moved in the manner of a somnolent lion, descending the steps of his dais slowly, deliberately. Orophin felt suddenly small, and felt again the nauseating shame he had felt when Haldir had confronted him in the mirror clearing.

"King," he said hastily, and bowed.

Thranduil raised his chin. "Rise, _mellon,_ " he said steadily.

Orophin lifted his head and regretted it at once, for with the action he met the King's eyes. They were pale, vivid blue in colour, like the sky on a January morning, and twice as cold. If Elrond was a lord of summer, exuding vitality and comfort, then Thranduil was winter—or perhaps worse, he was autumn, and the promise of winter to come.

"What is it that you would speak to me of?" Thranduil asked.

Orophin shivered and straightened. "Eight months ago, a mortal girl appeared in Lórien," he related.

Thranduil's brow rose. " _Appeared?"_

"Exactly that; she blundered into the western border and we later discovered that she had awoken upon the plains at the foot of the Misty Mountains. She—she comes from another world. She died there and was brought here."

"This is an impossible tale," the Elvenking said dismissively.

Desperately, Orophin burst out, "She appeared on exactly the same day that the first tree in the Greenwood began to die!"

Thranduil froze. "You suspect a link? Has this . . . _mortal_ caused any mischief within Lórien?"

Grief ached in Orophin's heart and he nodded numbly. "Yes, King Thranduil. My . . . my elder brother, Haldir, has—" he broke off and pressed his knuckle against his chin, breathing deeply before he continued. "Haldir has fallen in love with the mortal," he murmured.

Behind him, Orophin sensed Legolas stiffen. "If you had not just claimed a mortal had travelled between worlds, I would claim that as the most improbable thing I have heard in an age," Thranduil said. "Was anything done to discourage this?"

Orophin shook his head bitterly. "I was the only one who could see this _depravity_ for what it truly was," he snarled. "The others—even my younger brother Rúmil—encouraged them. I tried to encourage the girl to leave; she could have found a life with her own people and been happy; but she would see no sense. I was eventually forced to leave Lórien; I could no longer bear to watch my brother's long death."

"You have my sympathies," Thranduil said. "But you must take comfort from this, Orophin—if we can heal the wood, perhaps we may be able to heal your brother also."

"You think that Haldir could be saved?" Orophin demanded.

The Elvenking was silent for a timeless moment. "If the love is true, then there is no power that can save your brother save for his own will to live. Yet if this mortal is the foul creature responsible for the destruction of my forests, then the love cannot be real; you must have hope that your brother will be restored once this mortal creature has been destroyed."

Numbness spread through Orophin until he could feel it encroaching on his heart, pushing and squeezing in an attempt to finally stop him fighting. He _knew_ in that moment that there was no hope for Haldir; he had _felt_ the strength of his love when the three of them had bonded in Fangorn and, despite Aubrey's questionable origins and motives, he knew Haldir's feelings to be as deep as any love. "As you say, King Thranduil," he forced himself to say.

"I can see that you are troubled. Legolas, escort our guest to his quarters—he will be in the rooms beside yours. Orophin, I must ask you to begin working to heal to forest as soon as you are able. Anything that you need shall be yours, you must only ask." Thranduil strode forwards and his long-fingered hand, each finger ornamented with a ring, touched Orophin's arm. "We are in your debt, good Orophin."

He nodded and followed Legolas without another word. It had taken everything in him to not flinch from Thranduil's touch and he could not work out whether his reticence was because he feared the ancient ellon, or because inherent in his heart, his crimes lay heavily, and despite his cold exterior Thranduil was a good, noble elf, and Orophin feared his judgement.

Legolas stopped him with a rough hand on his chest as soon as they were alone on one of the narrower root-ways, high above the throne room. "You lied to me," he said.

Orophin could not meet his friend's eyes. "Perhaps."

"You told me that you were travelling! Now I learn that you are fleeing from Haldir's—predicament? Or is that a lie as well?"

Orophin pulled roughly away. "I hardly find the concerns of my family yours, Prince," he said coolly.

Legolas recoiled, hurt. "Orophin, what is wrong? You are not yourself."

"My brother is _dying,"_ he snapped, whirling about. "He will be gone in the weak breath of a mortal's life, the same mortal who has woven her poison through your own home. I would have thought that a Prince would be more concerned with the welfare of his realm; why do you not seem to care about what she has done?"

Legolas forced Orophin to meet his eyes and the Lórien ellon shrank back a step. _He is his father's son,_ he realised with something approaching awe or fear. There was raw steel in Legolas's eyes, the likes of which he had never seen on all of their previous meetings in Lórien. "I heard you say in the throne room that your brother is in love," he said finally. "I may be alone in my thoughts, but I believe that love of any kind should be celebrated; dark times begin to befall our world and all to soon I fear that love will be a fragile creature, clinging faintly to the memories of a lost world. I would seek to preserve its beauty."

"You cannot preserve love's beauty when the lovers are dead," Orophin said tightly.

"You entered the wood to help Alcarnor fight a violent skirmish. An elleth was lost in a similar fight a week before your arrival, and I know of Celedan's death in your home. Death is becoming a reality of the elves whether we love mortals or not."

Orophin thought back to Legolas's greeting—the Prince had seemed unaware of how he had arrived when they had first spoken. "How did you know about that skirmish, and my joining it?"

"I am a Prince," Legolas snapped. "I am _concerned with the welfare of my realm."_

Abashed, Orophin looked away. "I am sorry," he said, so softly that his words were almost inaudible.

"I think you are hiding something," Legolas told him bluntly. "I look into your eyes and I see not my friend of these ages, but a hunted ellon. A _scared_ ellon. What have you run from, Orophin?"

 _Haldir. Myself._ "I do not know," he said.

"Perhaps, as you heal the wood, you might heal yourself."

"I hope for it," he said. "But I do not expect it."


	39. Chapter 39

Aubrey dreamed of sickness.

Thick, cloying darkness like the choking filth of an oil slick upon a beach rushed through her mind. She sensed that this illness came not to her, but to Arda itself. She woke suddenly, her heart pounding and nausea rising. Her bedsheets were damp with sweat. The dream had felt horribly, alarmingly real; almost like a memory playing through her mind. She _needed_ to know if it was true, if Lórien truly was sick.

Hurriedly, she reached across to the small, fern-like plant that sat upon the bedside table. She pushed her fingers deep into the soil around the plant until she cradled its roots gently in her palms. The fern's feathery leaves tickled the insides of her wrists. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Aubrey strained to feel _something_ from the plant, something that would reassure her.

There was nothing.

Aubrey withdrew her hands and slumped against the headboard, furious with her inability to connect with the forest. In Fangorn, the connection to the forest had felt so natural, once she had fought through the pain. Perhaps, that was what she had to do once more? She knew that she had to connect to the forest somehow, knew it as surely as she had always known that she had to protect Evan. She set her jaw and rose, rubbing a hand over her face and leaving streaks of soil on her cheeks. Galadriel had told her, when first she came to Lórien, that she had a purpose to play out. It was long past time to discover that purpose, she decided.

o0o

The sickness had spread.

Even in the time he had slept, greater darkness had spread over Eryn Galen. Orophin slumped slightly against the aspen tree his palms were pressed against, bowing his forehead against the cool bark. He let himself sink further into the consciousness of the forest. It was almost like submerging himself beneath water; there was always an initial feeling of great refreshment and vitality followed by a faint worry that he would be swept away and lost, drowned in the great ocean of trees—and then, when we was deep enough into the forest, far away from himself, the joyful realisation that he did not need to breathe. Only, as he let himself sink into Eryn Gallon, he found that there was no feeling of weightless release, but a tense, alarming suction. He felt the darkness leaching at his fëa; like the quivering antenna of a moth it brushed against him and, liking what it found, attempted to dig into the great brightness.

Orophin pulled his hands back from the tree as if burned.

"Orophin?" Legolas steadied him with a hand on his shoulder blade. "Are you well?"

Swallowing, Orophin shook his head. "This darkness is more than I feared," he murmured. "There is a . . . a _sentience._ I felt it reach out for me."

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the prince, alarmed.

"I know not. It suggests, certainly, that something, some _one_ is causing this damage, but who I could not guess."

Legolas shifted his weight. "Yesterday, you were certain that all of this was the fault of a mortal girl. Do you not still hold with that?"

"Aubrey would not have this power," he said curtly. "No matter her intention, she has not the potency to cause such destruction in so few hours. Perhaps she quickens the spread of this sickness but I cannot think she is its master. Perhaps she works for him, whoever he may be."

Legolas's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "You admit, then, that the girl cannot be evil?"

"I did not say that," said Orophin sharply. "Merely that she is weak."

"Orophin," Legolas murmured, "Why are you so determined in this hatred?"

"Had you a brother, you would not need to ask this of me."

"I may not have a brother, but I have good, dear friends, and Haldir is one of them. I celebrate his newfound love, even if you will not." The prince said firmly.

Orophin turned sharply. "I am here to help you heal your forest," he snapped. "Not to talk of my brother and his _folly."_ He felt certain that Legolas would press the issue, but he conceded with a troubled sigh.

"Very well. Do you need more time here, or have you seen enough?"

"I have enough for now."

"Let us return to the palace, then; my father will be eager for your update."

Orophin frowned; he was not eager to share his ill news with the king. If the forest continued to sicken as quickly as it was doing, the entire wood would be engulfed within the next year. He could see no way of fighting the onslaught; the darkness had been so powerful against his fëa that resisting it had been all he could do. A sick, nauseating thought rose up in him and he almost stumbled with the weight of it: perhaps he could not fight the darkness because, with his actions back in Lórien, he had descended into darkness himself?

 _No!_ He thought desperately. _I am not that monster._ Everything, _everything_ had been for Haldir. He no longer knew whether his internal vehemence was because he knew he was right, or because he feared all the time that he was not.

o0o

Haldir greeted Aubrey with a soft kiss when she met him at the training ground. His fingers lingered on her cheek, an innocent yet heartfelt caress.

"We will use edged blades today," he told her, pulling back.

Aubrey shifted from foot to foot. "Actually," she said, somewhat uneasily, "I was hoping we could talk instead."

Haldir's brows rose. "Of what?"

"When Galadriel first commanded me to stay in Lórien, when she first got you to train me, she said it was because I had a purpose here," she said.

He nodded. "I recall, yes."

"Well—I want to know what that purpose was. Is."

"May I ask what has brought about this sudden curiosity?" he asked mildly.

Aubrey frowned. "I had a dream last night," she confessed. "A nightmare."

Concern touched Haldir's eyes and he shifted slightly closer to her. "What did you dream of?"

"I . . . I don't remember it quite exactly," she said. "But there was darkness. A thick, terrible darkness rising over the forest, like smoke and oil and sickness. I felt the forest dying around me."

Aubrey half expected Haldir to tell her that the dream was just that—a dream; but his eyes hardened and his face set into a grave pallor. "I have never heard of a mortal having prophetic dreams," he said faintly.

"You think I saw the _future?"_ she asked incredulously.

Haldir inclined his head. "I suspect as much, yes; had you any feeling that you should do something, in the dream? Did you feel compelled to take any action?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "When I woke up, I felt like I had to connect to the forest, the way we did in Fangorn. I tried to feel _something_ from one of—of Orophin's plants, but I couldn't. Could . . . could we do it again? Could you help me connect to Lórien?"

Haldir's expression darkened and he paced backwards. "I do not think that is a good idea," he told her.

"Why not? Haldir, I think I have to!" Aubrey pressed.

"Please," Haldir implored her, taking her hand in his. "Do not press this, not until I have spoken to Lady Galadriel about it."

"You had no problem before," she insisted. "You suggested it."

"Aubrey," Haldir said forcefully, his voice shadowed with fear as much as frustration. "Forgive me. We will speak to Galadriel now, if you wish it?"

She nodded quickly. She still felt the inescapable urge to touch her mind to the consciousness of the forest as soon as possible, an itch just beneath her skin. They did not speak as they walked, but she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands and dug them in until her hands tingled. The long walk up the great stairways had not felt so long to Aubrey since the very first time she had climbed them, on her first night in Lórien. As she climbed, she let her clenched fists brush against the smooth bark of the mallorn tree. She could feel nothing from it. Each time she felt the faint graze of bark against her knuckles she reached for the forest, but it was beyond her grasp in an achingly permanent way.

When they at last reached the top of the stair, Aubrey was nearly vibrating with pent up energy. Haldir rested a steadying hand on the small of her back and waved across the bridge ahead of him.

Just as she reached the end of the bridge, Celeborn appeared in the entryway of the talan. He looked at her with a faint smile on his face, as if she was an expected guest he was pleased to greet.

"Good morning, Aubrey, Haldir," said Celeborn.

Aubrey sensed Haldir bow behind her, and dipped her own head. "I need to speak with—"

"Galadriel, yes," Celeborn nodded.

Too keyed up to be alarmed by the casual display of Galadriel's clairvoyance, Aubrey followed the Lord into his home. Galadriel stood on the far side of the open room, her back to them. Her hair fell down her back like the shifting beams of sunlight piercing summer clouds, glimmering against her usual white attire. She was crowned with a slender gold and silver coronet, alike to the one Elrond had worn in Imladris.

"Aubrey," she said softly, not turning from the window. "Dear child, you are troubled."

"You said once, when I first came to Lothlórien, that I would have a purpose here. A—a job. I want to know what that is. Please." Aubrey said haltingly.

Galadriel lifted her head and looked back at them over her shoulder. "Why now? What has made you ask this?"

"I had a dream," she murmured. "I dreamed of sickness rising over the forest and consuming it. I felt like I had to connect to the forest, somehow."

The elleth turned fully to face them. The light from the window framed her, gilding her silhouette. "A prophetic dream, from a mortal," she said, intrigue colouring her tone. "Perhaps I should have encouraged you to look in the mirror after all. Why do you want to connect to the forest, Aubrey?"

"I . . . I don't know," she realised. "I only know that I have to."

Celeborn strode forwards, stepping up beside Galadriel. "You must know, Aubrey, that you cannot connect to the forest alone."

Aubrey's gaze flickered to the Marchwarden at her side. He lifted his chin, refusing to meet her eyes. "Haldir and Orophin helped me before," she said. "But Haldir won't, now."

"Haldir?" Galadriel prompted him.

A muscle in his jaw tensed. "Must I spell out my reasoning, my Lady?"

"Whatever it is, just tell me," Aubrey demanded. "I don't care if you're trying to keep my safe, or spare me from something—that's not the way it works. Tell me why you don't want me to connect to Lórien."

Haldir bowed his head. "Very well," he breathed. "When Orophin forced you to enter the mirror, he did great damage to your mind. No mortal was ever meant to do such a thing—elves would struggle. It was a wonder that you survived so unscathed. But, the damage he wrought has left you scarred. To connect to the forest could prove too taxing for you. You could be irreparably damaged."

Aubrey stumbled back. "What? I'm not _damaged._ I . . . I feel fine! I don't have any scars, what are you talking about?"

"Not physical scars," he told her gently. He rested his hands gently against her cheeks, pressed two fingers against her temples. "In your mind, your spirit. I feel them every time I touch you, _meleth."_

A frown marred Aubrey's brow and she pushed his hands away. "Is there no way, then? Please, I feel like I have to do this. Maybe—maybe _this is_ the purpose. I can't have travelled to this world for nothing." She looked to Galadriel and Celeborn, imploring. "There must be a way. It hurt last time but then it was fine, I know I can do it."

The two elves exchanged a weighted glance with each other. Aubrey had the distinct feeling, not for the first time, that they were talking to each other without words.

At last, after a timeless moment throughout which Haldir's eyes burned into the side of her face, Celeborn inclined his head and faced them. "It may be possible," he said, "if enough of us were to help you."

Excitement thrummed through Aubrey, as well as a sense of obligation. "How many elves?" she asked.

"Haldir, certainly, for he has guided you before in this manner, and the connection is strong between you," Celeborn said. "Galadriel and I will assist you as well. One more—perhaps Rúmil?"

Haldir shook his head decisively. "Not Rúmil. It was after connecting this way that Orophin . . . not Rúmil."

Celeborn seemed to be at the point of pressing him on the matter, but Galadriel simply nodded. "Ilye, then, will guide you. This mallorn stands at the heart of the forest; it has the greatest link with all other trees in the wood. I shall summon Ilye."

Aubrey felt a slither of panic in her mind and quickly quashed it. This was what she wanted—what she _needed_ to do. She turned to Haldir and slipped her hand into his, squeezing his fingers gently. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

Haldir swallowed. "I hate the reality of you choosing to put yourself in harm's way," he said simply.

Aubrey shrugged, near giddy with the ironic fatalism she felt. "Right back at you," she told him. "If I do not contest your love for me, then you're not allowed to be huffy about me doing this."

"As you say," he muttered. His eyes were still shadowed with foreboding, but the kiss he pressed to her temple was as heartfelt as any he had given her.

Aubrey laid her head upon Haldir's chest and let her eyes drift closed, relaxed by the slow, regular percussive of his heart beneath her ear. His arms linked loosely around her. She did not know quite how to feel about Orophin's actions having scarred her very soul. She had never believed in God, nor in any form of afterlife, but her appearance in Arda had proven her to be wrong on at least on count. Perhaps there really was something in the idea of souls; the idea that hers should be damaged was a frightening possibility.

Haldir touched her shoulder and she lifted her head, smiling at Ilye who had just entered the talan. She barely listened to Galadriel's words, but soon found herself following Celeborn from the talan, over the bridge, to the platform at the top of the great stair. He led her around to the other side of the platform where the tree's bark was flush against the flet. She knelt in front of the tree and pressed her palms to the smooth bark as she had to the rough surface of the ent in Fangorn all those weeks ago.

Haldir knelt beside her and placed his hand upon her right hand. Galadriel placed her hand over Aubrey's left; Celeborn knelt on the other side of his wife and Ilye on Haldir's other side.

"Are you prepared, Aubrey?" Galadriel asked her calmly.

She drew in a long, steadying breath and nodded. Her forehead grazed the mallorn's trunk. "Yes," she said.

"Very well."

Haldir squeezed her hand—the last sensation she was aware of before her vision whited out.

There was pain. Oh, God, there was pain; she felt again the vast pressure of hundreds upon thousands of beings entering her consciousness. She thought of Atlas, bearing the weight of the heavens upon his shoulders, and she was glad that she had chosen to kneel before the tree, because had she not her knees would have buckled. She wanted to wrench her hands free and recoil because she was _burning_ ; if the vast presence of the forest did not kill her then the blistering light of four fëa brushing against her, _blinding_ her, would surely obliterate her. Galadriel's fëa was so intense beside her that Aubrey turned from it, giving into Haldir's faintly dimmer light. She almost gasped in surprise; she could _feel_ him. The sensation of his fëa brushing against her mind was almost physical; it was a gentle caress reminiscent of his hands on her skin. She knew in that moment what Orophin had seen when they had connected in Fangorn, for Haldir's fëa seemed to reach out to her without conscious choice, enveloping and supporting her mind as she was buffeted by the majesty of Lorien.

It was the bolstering presence of Haldir's fëa that gave Aubrey the strength to push through the clamour that was the trees of Lórien and see the very soul of the forest, the way she had seen Fangorn.

Just like Fangorn, this forest was singing. The beauty of the song almost made her weep; it was entirely different from the song of Fangorn and, she realised with growing devastation, it was a lament.

_Who now shall walk the Greenwood paths?_

_Which child now shall tread sweet grass?_

_Oh, Greenwood, Goldenwood, long together grown,_

_Long had we guarded, long watched, long known._

_Mourned shall be the forest where once it stood—_

_Fallen first to darkness, the great Greenwood._

o0o

Haldir let himself sink into the consciousness of Lórien as soon as Aubrey signalled that she was ready. The connection came to him as easily as breathing. Though he had not Orophin's great intuition, he had the natural connection of all his people. Blending his fëa into the forest was like sinking into his Naneth's arms.

He breathed deeply and steadily, and felt for Aubrey's spirit. It took him a moment to find for her spirit had muted, understated, pale luminescence, and it was almost obscured by the radiance of his own fëa. It was like comparing soft moonlight to the light of the midday sun. He felt the way his fëa wrapped around Aubrey's spirit and used the connection between them to channel the forest as easily as he could. He gritted his teeth against the new pain. Though his own connection to the forest was effortless, _natural,_ imparting that connection to a mortal was punishingly difficult. He felt the mighty soul of Lórien rip through him into Aubrey; let himself open up from a vessel into a conduit and felt the others do the same.

It was not long before he began to tire. The connection that had opened between all five of them began to throb with intensity until Galadriel finally broke the connection. Haldir blinked and opened his eyes.

The sunlight was harsh on his sensitive vision and his head was pounding. He felt as if he had gone for months without food or rest. Movement flickered beside him and he turned in time to see Aubrey slump forwards. He lurched forwards, breaking her fall with an outstretched arm.

"Aubrey," he gasped. "Are—you—?"

"'M fine," she mumbled, righting herself. She met his gaze and her eyes widened dramatically. "Are you? You look awful!"

A smirk touched his lips. "Just—tired," he said wearily.

Aubrey fussed about him, helping him to lean back against the trunk of the great Mallorn tree. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for helping me see it."

"What did you see?" he asked her, regaining his breath somewhat.

She wrung her hands together, conscious of Galadriel and Celeborn's sudden interest in their conversation, though poor Ilye remained slumped against the flet. "I . . . I heard the lament," she murmured.

Haldir exchanged a glance with Galadriel over her head. The same confusion he felt was mirrored in the eyes of the Lady. "The lament?" he echoed.

Aubrey nodded. "Yes, of course. Did you . . . did you not?"

Galadriel rested a hand on Aubrey's. "Dear Aubrey, there was no lament, only the usual song of the Goldenwood."

"No, there was!" Aubrey insisted. "It went, _Who now shall walk the Greenwood paths? Which child now shall tread sweet grass? Oh, Greenwood, Goldenwood, long together grown, long had we guarded, long watched, long known. Mourned shall be the forest where once it stood—fallen first to darkness, the great Greenwood."_

Horror rose within Haldir. "You heard this?"

"Yes! Over and over again. How can you not have heard it?" she demanded, her voice rising.

Galadriel's eyes were shadowed and though she looked at Haldir, he felt as if she looked through him. "I know not why you should have been shown what none of us could see," Galadriel said solemnly. "Perhaps we are cloaked from the truth of the forest, yet you are exempt. But it is clear that a great threat has come upon Arda; Thranduil must be warned of this danger."

"What do you suggest, _meleth?"_ Celeborn asked.

Haldir closed his eyes for a moment, certain of what was coming. Sure enough, Galadriel said, "Is Aubrey ready to face all the dangers of this world, Marchwarden?"

 _No,_ he wanted to say. _Do not expose her to this. I will not risk her, not now, not ever._ But he had sworn an oath of honesty and fealty to the Lord and Lady of the wood, and almost more important, he had promised that he would never shelter Aubrey from what he knew her to be capable of; would never hold her back from his own selfish concern.

"Not alone," he said tightly, each word burning his recalcitrant lips, "but with others, perhaps. If she was accompanied by a skilled fighter, then yes."

"Then it is settled. We will make ready our party, Marchwarden; I suggest you take the time to secure what patrols are needed in your absence and prepare Aubrey as much as you can. We will leave in a week, and no longer."

Aubrey grasped his hand tightly confusion in her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked.

Haldir frowned grimly. "We are all of us going to the Greenwood."


	40. Chapter 40

A faint shadow fell across Ilye's book and she looked up, startled. Rúmil stood above her, silhouetted against the sky. Ilye swallowed nervously; she had taken to reading outside the library in an attempt to avoid being looked for; her time helping Aubrey had left her behind in her own work and she enjoyed the opportunity to work without disruption. She had found a secluded spot high above the library that required her to leave the paths and walk along the long boughs of a mallorn, yet it was worth the effort for the beautiful view she found. She had not thought anyone would find her so high in the canopy, yet there Rúmil stood, balanced easily upon the tree's limbs.

"Good morning, Ilye," Rúmil smiled, sitting beside her on the wide mallorn branch.

"What can I do for you, Rúmil?" she asked.

He looked at her slyly. "That is a dangerous question for a beautiful elleth to ask, is it not?"

Ilye closed her book. "I'm working," she said brusquely. "Can I help you or not?"

A faint, almost imperceptible flush touched Rúmil's ears, and Ilye realised that he was _nervous._ "I—we are leaving tomorrow at dawn, for Greenwood," he said softly. "We will not return for many weeks. The journey itself will take us near a fortnight, I expect. I . . ."

"Rúmil?" Ilye prompted him, her voice softer than she had intended.

"I wanted to say goodbye," he murmured. "I would wish for you to accompany us, but I cannot wish for you to be in danger on the open plains. I know how much it haunts Haldir to have Aubrey in so much peril."

Ilye blinked rapidly. "Of course," she said. "But Aubrey means so much to Haldir."

Rúmil's eyes were steady upon hers. "Yes," he said. "She does."

Once, when she had been an elfling of only thirty years, Ilye's naneth had taken her to swim in the deep pools that lay in the heart of the forest. Ilye had swum to the middle of the largest pool and then made the mistake of looking down; she had realised all at once that she could not even see the bottom of the spring and a terrible fear had stolen over her. She felt again that same fear now, only her mother was not there to swim out and rescue her, and Rúmil's eyes were unrelenting in their gaze, fixed on her with the same intense, bottomless blue as the pool. She stood suddenly, clutching her book tightly to her breast. "I—" she broke off and stepped backwards. "Yes. Well. Thank you."

Ilye turned and fled with her book, unsure whether she wanted to sob or leap for joy.

o0o

Aubrey looked between the two knives she held. She had brought her meagre selection of weapons to Haldir's talan in search of his advice. In her left hand was a long, slender knife with an elegantly curved blade, ideal for the rapid, dance-like movements the elves fought with. It had been a gift from Haldir, one of a matching pair—he kept its twin, sheathed at his belt beside Curmegil. In her right she clutched a heavier dagger with a straight blade and a cross-guard. She had found it at the back of the armoury, gathering dust—a gift from a Gondorian man who had been offered shelter in the Goldenwood, Haldir had informed her, it was of inferior quality to the weapons of the elves. Despite this, Aubrey was fond of the dagger—the larger, more pronounced grip and shorter blade were easier for her to manoeuvre with her slower speed.

"Which shall I take?" she called over her shoulder.

She sensed Haldir approach over her shoulder, though his feet made no noise. "Hmm," he considered. "I would prefer to long-knife," he said. "But I think you favour the Gondorian dagger, no?"

"I'm better with the dagger, but if I manage to get the movements of the knife correct it's more effective."

"The dagger, then, and I will take that knife so that I may have a set." He said, reaching around her to pluck it from her fingers. He tested the edge of the blade with his thumb. "Sharp, too; you have been taking care of it."

"Of course," she hummed. She turned around and found him closer than she had expected. Feeling daring, she leant up onto her toes and kissed the underside of his jaw. "Are you just taking those knives?"

"Curmegil, my knives, my bow," he said, off-hand. His eyes glimmered teasingly and he said, "I would recommend you find a bow to take but your progress has—"

"Yeah, alright, I'm crap at archery, we all know that," she said with a laugh. "I'm good enough with my sword."

Haldir pursed his lips and stepped back, slipping his hands down to rest on her hips. "About that—come here," he said.

Curious, Aubrey followed Haldir to the other side of the room where a dark chest squatted against the wall. He knelt beside the chest and flipped it open, withdrawing a scabbard from beneath a pile of linens.

"What—?"

Haldir smiled softly and drew the sword. It was small and slender, only about twice the length of the long knife she had just relinquished. The blade curved ever to slightly and the metal was so pale it was almost white. "I said once that to have a sword made for you was a prodigious and expensive gift that you would have to earn. I have not had one made for you—but I will gift you with this. This is the sword I learned to fight with, before Curmegil was forged. My . . . my Naneth and Adar had it made for me."

Feeling as if she was excepting a priceless relic, Aubrey took the sword. It was heavy in her palm but the weight was welcome; she knew that she could bear it. "What does this say?" she asked, tracing tengwar writing on the blade.

"Do you recall the song I sang for you once, when we were travelling to Imladris?"

Aubrey nodded; she would never forget the beautiful moment. "Yes; the one about stars."

"These are the lyrics to that song. Naneth used to sing this to me when I was an elfling." His eyes were soft but slightly sad when he spoke.

Aubrey frowned and took his hand. "Are you sure you want to give me this?"

His eyes cleared. "It would make me very happy if you would accept it," he said firmly.

She nodded and sheathed the blade. "Thank you," she said.

Haldir smiled and drew her into his arms. "Thank me with a kiss," he suggested.

Aubrey poked him in the ribs. "That is cheeky," she told him sternly.

"Will you not kiss me, then?" he asked, affecting a wounded expression.

Setting her sword down, Aubrey tugged lightly at one of the neat plaits that held his hair behind his ears. "I could be persuaded."

His lips settled over hers as neatly as her sword and slid into its scabbard. There was a familiarity to his kisses, now, though she would never be used to his touch. His lips on hers reminded her of the way sunlight danced on mallorn leaves—she turned into his touch and was warmed by him, and he was made more beautiful by the simple fact that he was reflected by her.

She tilted her head slightly to the side and _pressed,_ pressed her chest into his and her tongue against his lip, pressed her fingertips into his silk-soft hair. She wanted to push him against or wall, or have him push _her_ against a wall. They had kissed so many times now that she felt comfortable desiring _more_ in a tangible way. Apparently, he felt the same.

"You could stay here tonight," he said. "We will leave at dawn and our company will be large."

"My pack is back in my talan."

Haldir stared into her eyes and very slowly, very deliberately, tightened his arms around her waist and slid his thigh between hers. "Collect it in the morning," he said.

Aubrey was suddenly, startlingly aware that if she stayed the night, she would most likely have sex with him. It was an odd sensation, to know that, and she felt faintly nervous. She shook her head to dispel her wayward thoughts and bit her lip. "Okay," she said.

o0o

Their evening meal had been tense with anticipation. He had not eaten much; his stomach had felt tight and hard, the way it did before battle, though for an entirely different reason. Now he stood, alone, in his bed chamber wearing only a loose pair of pants, wondering exactly what had happened between their meal and then retiring that had led to him being alone.

There had been a moment, when they had walked up the stairs, each of them so wrought with desire for the other that the air was thick with it, when he had stopped at his door. He had meant to open it and ask her to come inside, or perhaps he had meant to kiss her, but at the last second his nerve had failed, as it never had before, and he had stuttered out a barely audible _good night._ Something had flashed in Aubrey's eyes and then she had fled into her own bedroom.

He sighed heavily and let his head fall backwards to thud against the door frame. He thought he heard an echo of the noise, before he realised that it had been Aubrey's door opening. He froze, one hand clenched around the door handle. He could hear Aubrey on the other side of the door, could _feel_ her presence like the sun shining on closed eyelids. It would perhaps have been right to turn away and go to sleep before the arduous journey the next day would bring, but Haldir knew what lay ahead of them—weeks of long, hard travelling surrounded by other elves and then the unfamiliar settings of the Elvenking's halls.

He opened the door.

Aubrey stood on the other side, her hands twisting in the hem of her tunic—one of his, long enough on her that it fell to her knees. Made for his broad shoulders, the tunic slid off her left shoulder, baring the wing-like arc of her collar bones and the swell of her breasts. Haldir sucked in a deep breath; he was reaching for her before he realised he had moved. He took her hands in his and brought them to his chest.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

She met his gaze with steady intent—and, he realised, _desire._ "We leave at dawn, right?"

"We do."

She nodded and stepped closer to him. He drew backwards, leading them both into his room. Moonlight spilled down from the large skylights, brightening their skin. "I know how dangerous the plains are going to be," she said. "And even though I don't know what we're going to find in Greenwood, I'm willing to bet it won't be good. I know that there is a really good chance on of us could be—hurt."

He clenched his jaw, hating the reality of her words and what they meant. "What are you saying? Do you not wish to go?"

"I have to go. I'm saying this might be our last bit of peace for a long time . . . I don't want to waste it alone. I won't go into that danger without knowing what it is to love you first."

Her face was smoothly impassive but he could hear emotion thick in her voice. His breath caught in his throat and it was a long moment before he could speak again. "Then tonight is for us."

She kissed him joyfully, brightly, hopefully. None of the fear in her words found a hold in her touch and so he did not let it enter his. The night was for them and for now, not for whatever the next day might hasten their way. He let Aubrey back him onto the bed and when he sat down he pulled her with him so she sat straddled across his lap. As he kissed her, he ran his fingertips around the hem of her borrowed shirt. She arched upwards against him, lifting her arms so that they could slide her shirt off. Haldir _gazed_ at her, taking in her moon-highlighted skin. Her body was taught and hard in places, the legacy of so many hours spent training and travelling, but her breasts in his hands were soft. He palmed them and then rubbed her nipples, finding himself absurdly pleased when they hardened beneath his touch. He could feel the heat of her against his leg, and a slight dampness which made his heart swell with some ancient satisfaction.

"I've wanted this for a while," she sighed, leaning forwards to kiss his neck. He hummed in agreement, tilting his head back. Her lips and tongue did not follow their usual path up and along his jawline, but continued up his neck until he felt her teeth softly nibbling at his ear. He went rigid, arms tightening reflexively.

Aubrey pulled back, shocked. "I'm sorry," she said. "Does that—does that hurt?"

He laughed breathlessly. " _No."_

Understanding dawned in her eyes and she grinned mischievously. She raised her hand and dragged one finger slowly, deliberately from the lobe to the tip of his ear. "They're sensitive?"

Haldir swallowed thickly and fell backwards onto his elbows. "Yes," he gasped.

Her other hand wandered down his chest until she met the waistband of his pants, which had fallen down to his hips. "Sensitive like . . .?"

"No," he said again, with slightly more control. He reached up and traced her bottom lip. "Sensitive as your lips are sensitive on mine. Or—" he picked up her hand and pressed his lips to the pad of her thumb. He sucked it gently into his mouth and very, very softly, scraped his teeth against the skin. "—or your fingertips."

"Oh my God," Aubrey whispered. Her hand left his ear and she tugged at his pants. Obligingly he lifted his hips and pulled them off.

He watched, faintly amused, as Aubrey stared at him. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. "Well, that's a relief," she said mildly. He raised a brow questioningly. "Only, your ears are pointy. I wondered whether . . . other things . . . would be too."

Haldir fell back against the bed, laughing so hard that his stomach ached. All tension between them eased, Aubrey lay down against his chest, resting her chin on her clasped hands. "I love you," she murmured, and kissed one of his flat, broad nipples.

He smiled softly, still chuckling. "I love you, Palarran."

His arms came around her and he cherished her heated skin, just slightly warmer than his. He rolled over until she lay on her back and his hair fell over his shoulders, tangling with hers around her head. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked her, stroking her collar bone with his thumb.

Aubrey lifted her hips and hooked her ankle around the small of his back. "More than anything."

He entered her slowly, steadily. She shuddered at the sensation and his shoulders went taught. He bowed his head against her neck and stayed there, panting and trembling for a tremulous second. " _Eru_ ," he whispered against her skin, at the same time as she spoke _God_ to his neck.

Neither of them moved; he was almost lost in sensation and he was certain that if either of them moved even a fraction it would all be over for him. Aubrey proved him wrong when she looped her other leg over his hips and then he was deeper, there was more, and she was still so _warm,_ in his arms and around him.

He moved slowly at first, certain at each second that he could last no longer at yet unable to stop. _I am being burned alive,_ he thought, grasping her thigh in one hand. He braced himself with the other arm, sparing her his weight.

"Aubrey," he said, "I—"

"Uh huh. Me too. Ab—solutely me . . . too," she moaned.

He quickened his pace, and between them there was a feeling of unity alike only to the feeling of connecting to the forest—as if a greater part of his fëa that had until this point been withheld from him had finally touched him and was joined forever. He mumbled praise and prayer into her skin, heard her say the same garbled phrases back to him, and he did not know if they spoke Sindarin or her English, or a mixture of the two.

His completion came upon him so quickly that he was cried out in shock as much as pleasure. He shuddered yet did not stop, and his irregular movement along with the pressure of his hands in all of the places he had learned she loved the best brought her with him. "Eru and Elbereth," he whispered.

Aubrey, still trembling beneath him, nodded distractedly. "Yes, those guys," she panted. "Huzzah."

He laughed, but the sound was weak, for he was entirely spent in every way, and had only the strength to roll them over so that her slight weight settled against his side. "Was that good?"

She frowned and poked him beneath his ribs. "Don't ask male-smug questions," she said tiredly. "You know very well that it was excellent."

"Oh? _Excellent._ My." He grinned.

"Hush," she said softly and kissed his sweat-dampened chest. "I want to sleep before tomorrow."

He shook his head slightly, stroking her hair. "Don't speak of tomorrow. It need never come."

o0o

" _Meleth nin."_

Aubrey ignored the whispered and burrowed closer into Haldir's side, only to find that where his warm body had bracketed hers as they fell asleep, there was only cool sheets. "Wha—?" she mumbled.

She felt a soft kiss press against her temple. "Hush, Palarran, I am here. I must go and begin to prepare for our leaving."

She wrinkled her nose and rolled over, pushing her face against his, sadly, clothed thigh. "You promised that tomorrow wouldn't come," she whined.

"I told a lie. We will leave in a little over an hour, melethril, you must make haste."

"Do you have to leave without me? I'll feel like I'm doing a walk of shame."

He chuckled and clasped her hand briefly in his. "Yes. I have to direct my wardens. I will see you when you are prepared."

She heard the bedroom door shut, and then, a minute later, the front door of the talan opened and shut with a click. She rolled over and stared up at the uncovered skylights. The sky was so dark it was only distinguishable by the completely black silhouettes of branches against it. Aubrey sighed. There was a pleasant ache in her body and she had been subconsciously looking forward to a repeat performance of the night before. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep in Haldir's arms, but the call of Greenwood and her eventual destiny there was as inescapable as the cruel flames that had consumed Evan's house.

o0o

It was icy cold when Aubrey left her talan after collecting her pack. She was glad of her thick travelling cloak and warm mittens as she made her way down to the stables, tucking her arms tight around herself and shivering. It was the first time winter had truly seemed to touch Lórien, though they must have been well into the season. It was as if, she thought, the forest was aware that Galadriel and Celeborn were leaving and mourned the loss of their guidance, however temporary it might be.

The stableyard was a flurry of activity. The breath of horses and elves steamed in the pale dawn light, making the yard seem like a hazy dream. Through the fog, Aubrey made out Haldir's tall figure. He stood at the door of the main stable block, directing his wardens around him. Aubrey smiled and began to make her way over towards him when her name rang out behind her.

"Wait for me, you daft thing!" Ilye cried, jogging into the yard after her.

Aubrey spun, startled yet elated. "You came to see me off!"

"Well, of course I did. I couldn't let my dear friend gallivant off to see the wood elves without faring her well." Ilye grinned, though there was a touch of sadness in her words.

"You could come with us," Aubrey said. She'd spent a good proportion of the last week attempting to convince Ilye to accompany them, but her answer was always the same:

"I couldn't. My place is in Lórien, and I think it always will be. I don't have your spirit for adventure—or apparently your talent for stirring up trouble. I shall think of you every day, though."

"Will you wait with me, until we set off? I think it will be a while, half of the horses aren't even tacked." Aubrey begged.

Ilye grimaced and peered around them. "If Rúmil sees me, he might think I've come to see _him_ off."

"Haven't you?" Aubrey asked teasingly.

The elleth glared. "I could still leave you here. It's _cold."_

"Let's get moving, then," Aubrey suggested. "I need to ask Haldir if I should be doing anything."

They picked their way carefully through the throng of elves and horses, ducking around the wardens who hurried back and forth across the courtyard carrying supplies. When they reached Haldir, Aubrey was surprised by how calm he appeared. She would have been harried in his situation yet he stood steady and serene, light a lighthouse in the midst of a storm.

"Haldir," she said, touching his arm lightly—she couldn't get over touching him, even after the night before she still felt a strange thrill at being allowed to touch him whenever she could, odd as it sounded even in her own head. "What can I do?"

"Have you saddled Fingo?" he enquired.

Aubrey frowned. "I thought Rúmil was coming . . ."

"And so he is, but Fingo is yours to ride; Rúmil will ride Sirdal."

Faintly puzzled but undeniably pleased to be riding the horse she knew, Aubrey tugged Ilye on into the dim stables.

"Wait," Ilye hissed, jerking free and ducking behind the wall. "Rúmil's in there! I'll wait here."

"Oh, come on," she said. "I'm not going to see you for months."

Still protesting, Ilye allowed herself to be dragged over to Fingo's stall. He greeted Aubrey at the door, his eyes quirked and his eyes bright. Aubrey gave him a quick scratch and began to tack him up, carefully distributing the heaviest contents of her pack so as to even the weight as much as possible.

"Ilye?"

Rúmil's voice rang out through the mostly-empty stable and Aubrey watched as her friend blanched and attempted to duck behind Fingo. "Hide me," she hissed.

Aubrey lifted a brow but did not protest. Rúmil strode over to Fingo's stall door, leading Sirdal behind him. "Ilye, is that you?"

With a sigh, Ilye straightened. She shot a quick glance at Aubrey, her eyes wide and startled. "I—I came to see Aubrey off," she stammered.

"Just Aubrey?" Rúmil asked slyly, a grin touching his lips.

"Yes!" Ilye insisted.

Aubrey left them to their conversation and led Fingo out into the yard. The elves accompanying them were mounting their horses, and so she set a foot in Fingo's stirrup and grasped the small pommel, attempting to haul herself onto his back. She managed to wind herself slamming her stomach into his side and fell back to the ground, huffing crossly. Fingo's head swung around and he regarded her dispassionately. "You could help me," she told him. "Crouch down?"

"Would you like a hand?" Haldir asked her.

She spun around. "Oh! Yes, please."

He lifted her with a hand on each of her hips and she flushed darkly remembering his hands in exactly the same place the night before for another kind of mounting. She coughed awkwardly and shook her head. Haldir regarded her with a smile in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

A warden called out in Sindarin and his eyes hardened. He swung up into Celeroch's saddle and Aubrey's heart deflated slightly. All of the teasing humour was gone from his demeanour and without his shared joy she could not stop herself thinking of the peril they were walking into. Their group was a good size—herself and Haldir, of course, as well as Galadriel and Celeborn. Rúmil would also ride with them, and ten other wardens. Two packhorses carried the most part of their bags, the rest of which they carried themselves.

At a nod from Galadriel, who sat upon a stunningly white mare, Haldir called out their marching orders. The horses fell into step, walking three abreast out of the stable yard and down the cobbled road that would lead them out of the forest and away from the safety of Lórien.

Aubrey almost wanted to cry, for she was certain that of their group of fifteen, they could not possibly all survive. But then she heard the sound of good natured voices, and looking up she saw that Rúmil wore a scarf she was absolutely certain Ilye had been wearing, and she laughed instead.


	41. Chapter 41

The unease that had plagued Aubrey all day fell away the minute they left Lothlórien's sheltered canopy, and she was overcome instead with awe. To the south, the fertile plains of Rohan spread before her like a landscape, edged by the Misty Mountains. She turned north, and nearly gasped aloud at the vastness she saw. Grasslands stretched out for miles upon miles, further than she could possibly see. On the very edge of the horizon she could see a dark smudge that she knew to be Eryn Galen. The forest was far, far larger than Lórien or even Fangorn; the concept of ever reaching its northern lands where the elves dwelt was unfathomable to her. She felt a surging in her blood, the same excitement she had always felt upon seeing the large spread of the Yorkshire dales before her, just waiting for her to explore them to her heart's content.

Beside her, Haldir cleared his throat. "Are you well, meleth?"

Aubrey shook her head to chase away the thoughts. "I'm fine. Where are we going? Well—I know we're going to the elven kingdom in the Greenwood, but how are we going to get there?"

"Today, we were going to cross the Anduin river; there is a ford where we may safely make the crossing not far from here. From there, we will follow the tree line until we reach the forest road, which will take us to Thranduil's city."

She saw that his shoulders were tense and his ancient eyes were tight in his youthful face. "You look worried," she told him. "How likely is it that there will be orcs?"

She could see the conflict within him as he fought between honesty and his endless desire to protect her. "Until we cross the Anduin it is unlikely we will meet any trouble. But, once we reach the shadows of Eryn Galen, so close to Dol Guldur, I dare not hope that we will escape danger." He said finally, his eyes shadowed.

Aubrey reached out and clasped his hand where it rested on Celeroch's reins in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. It had always worked for Evan. "The sooner we reach this danger, the sooner we can get past it, right?"

He smiled softly and squeezed her hand. "Of course." He released her and looked back to the rest of their party. "Move out!" Haldir called, spurring Celeroch onwards.

Their party continued once more, but gone was the loose, relaxed formation they had assumed through the Golden wood. Haldir and Celeborn rode to the front of the group while the wardens arranged themselves around Aubrey and Galadriel, who found themselves in the centre of the group. Rúmil, falling to the rear, waved cheekily at Aubrey.

"Why are you in the middle?" Aubrey asked the Lady, puzzled. "You're . . ." she trailed off, unwilling to call the elleth 'badass' to her face.

Galadriel smiled serenely. "My talents lie not in combat, though I assure you I am capable of defending myself."

"Can I ask you something?" Aubrey questioned.

The Lady dipped her head. "Of course you may, dear child."

Aubrey bit her lip. "Haldir seems very worried. More worried than I'd expect him to be about some orcs; he was never this worried when went to Imladris. The elves we're going to see—what are they like? Are they like the elves in Imladris?"

Galadriel's shining face fell for a moment into shadow, and Aubrey thought that she would not reply, but at last she spoke. "I must tell you some of our histories for you to fully understand the feelings of Thranduil and his people," she said. "First, you must know that just as there are many races of men, there are many races of elves. We have not the time—or perhaps I have not the will—for you to learn the full story of our people, but I will tell you what I must. The elves of Lórien and the Greenwood are, principally, Silvan elves, so there exists a kinship between my people and Thranduil's. Yet, though the people of both realms are Silvan, the rulers are not. When Celeborn and I came to Lórien, Sindar kings ruled the wood. When Amroth, the last of these kings, died, we were embraced as the leaders of the Galadhrim. However, I am of the Noldor, as is Elrond. There was a great wrong done by the Noldor, once. This wrong was committed against the Teleri and their cousins, the Sindar. King Thranduil is a Sindar lord. My . . . my uncle led the elves who spread this evil. I had not part in it, and I opposed them, but still Thranduil has no liking for me, and will never trust me."

Aubrey blinked, trying to sift through all the information. "So . . . Thranduil doesn't like you because of something your uncle did?"

Galadriel laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. "Essentially, that is correct."

"But what about the people? Will they be alright?" she pressed.

"It has been said that of all the Eldar, the Silvan elves of the Greenwood are the least wise, and the most dangerous—but they are not unreasonable, and all Eldar are kin of a kind. We will be welcomed, I am sure of it."

Aubrey frowned, biting at her lip. "I just . . . I just have this feeling that Haldir isn't saying something."

Galadriel smiled at her, and she felt as if she had been warmly embraced. "Do not underestimate his worry for you, Aubrey. I remember the first time that Rúmil went to serve a rotation on the borders without Haldir there; he requested a report from the captain of Rúmil's unit every half day. It is in his nature to worry."

Aubrey wrinkled her nose, and determined to ask him what was wrong as soon as they stopped that night.

o0o

They came to the Anduin as dusk was beginning to fall. They had reached the river at a point where its waters ran swiftly but the channel was wide and shallow, making a natural ford. The setting sun shone on the water making it shine a fierce silver, almost too bright to look at. Fingo shied at the water when Aubrey asked him to cross, lifting his feet of the ground as if he wanted to rear back but would not unseat her. Haldir, seeing her trouble, halted Celeroch.

"Would you like me to tie his reins to my saddle?" he offered. Celeroch, steady as an oak beneath him, merely flicked an ear at the rushing water.

Aubrey ran her palm down Fingo's dark neck, hushing him. "No," she said, "we can do this."

Haldir nodded. "We cannot fall behind," he told her. "We must make higher ground before we camp, at this time of year the river often floods."

Touched by his implicit assumption that he would stay with her rather than chasing the rest of their group who stood waiting on the far bank, Aubrey smiled. "Come on, Fingo, it's fine," she urged him.

With Celeroch beside him, pressing shoulder to shoulder, the bay horse was at last persuaded to cross the river. The river never came higher than his knees, yet still he shook his mane out when they reached the other bank. Aubrey rolled her eyes at the back of his head. The group moved on once more, though there was a wariness to the elves now as if they felt eyes upon them, and they moved in closer to Aubrey and Galadriel where they rode in the centre. The overt watchfulness made Aubrey's pulse jump and she could not stop peering into the dark shadows of the forest which was now only a few thousand metres away—just far enough that she could not quite distinguish the individual trees, nor tell whether the shifting shadows were branches of something more. She shivered, and looked determinedly forwards.

The campsite turned out to be a flat area of ground just large enough for all of them to fit comfortably onto, bracketed on one side by a small but steep cliff and on the other by a thicket of gorse. Aubrey scratched her leg dismounting beside it and swore softly, tugging thorns from her pants.

"You do not appear to be having much fun on this trip, melon nin," one of the guards called to her. Ániero was his name; she had talked with him earlier and learned that he was the youngest among the elves in their party, merely four hundred years old. He was great friends with Rúmil and it showed in his easy humour and charm.

"What gave me away?" she muttered, sulkily removing Fingo's tack.

Ániero gave her a small bow. "Your charming smile my lady, of course."

She let herself laugh at his words. "Sorry," she said. "I've never enjoying being stuck with pointy things."

"What terrible news for our Marchwarden," Ániero said gravely, and sauntered away leaving Aubrey turned rapidly crimson.

She loosed Fingo to crop grass with the other horses and joined the circle of elves around a fire that had been built. Overly conscious of Ániero's laughing gaze, she dithered over whether or not to sit beside her lover, but at last the young ellon looked at her with raised eyebrows as if he offered her a challenge. She sat firmly between Haldir and Rúmil, letting her head rest against Haldir's shoulder. The wardens were merry, swapping stories and jokes in Sindarin just a little too swift for Aubrey to follow properly, but she caught enough that she was soon smiling earnestly, her embarrassment forgotten. Rúmil seemed to notice this and redoubled his efforts, launching into dozens of anecdotes each more unlikely and hilarious than the last. The climax of a story involving Haldir, Rúmil, Ániero and a goat left Aubrey laughing so hard she spilled broth across her lap. She leant back, chuckling weakly and yawned widely.

"I'm going to go to sleep," she told Haldir, standing.

"I must organise watches," he said, "and I shall probably sit the first—after that, may I join you?"

She found that the idea of sleeping next to Haldir, having the comfort of his arms as she slept, was very appealing. "Of course," she said.

o0o

Haldir found Aubrey still awake when he finished his watch. The mercy of travelling in such a large party meant that each person's watch need only be brief.

"Why are you still awake?" he whispered, laying down beside the mortal woman.

She rolled onto her side to meet his eyes, her expression deadly serious. "I can't stop thinking about how you got that goat into a flet in the first place. It was hard enough for me to get up with a ladder!"

He stifled a laugh. "You mock me mercilessly," he accused her.

"Of course," she said easily, settling her head against his shoulder. "It keeps you humble."

"I have rarely been called humble," he mused.

Aubrey huffed, her eyes drifting closed. "I clearly need to mock you more."

She drifted into sleep then, her breath stirring his hair against his neck. He let himself be soothed by the soft noises she made in her sleep that had so annoyed him when he had first known her. He stroked a hand through her hair and tried to push away a nagging worry that had bothered him all day. He could not place what bothered him, a fact that only worried him all the more.

It was a long time before he approached the trance-like resting state of the Eldar, and even then it was a tenuous thing. Just as he was about to drift off, a cry rang through the camp that filled him with cold, terrible dread.

" _Orcs!"_

o0o

Aubrey was not blessed with even a second of hazy sleepiness when she woke. Adrenaline shot through her and she seized her sword. The clearing was already a chaos of elves rising and grabbing their weapons. In the dark, Aubrey could see little more than Haldir's outline but she could hear shouting and horses shrieking, and a horrible, high-pitched growl that must have been the orcs. Amongst it all, Haldir stood still beside her, Curmegil drawn and ready in his hand.

"Shall I stay here? In the camp?" she asked, willing to follow any direction.

Haldir's jaw tightened. "No. The camp is too hemmed in, if any broke through you would be trapped. Stay with Galadriel, Celeborn and I will guard you both."

She looked wildly around, cursing the horrible darkness. Just as she was about to give up hope of finding Galadriel in the writhing darkness, a bright light ignited to her left. She spun around and her her jaw fell open in shock. Galadriel stood just outside the camp clearing, and she emitted light like a fallen star. Golden radiance shone from her skin and hair, illuminating the elves rushing about and, beyond them, the orcs. Aubrey almost retched at the sight of them. There were perhaps thirty of the creatures, some of them as short as a child and some of them looming taller than the elves. Their skin was sickly green, muddy brown, slate grey, raw pink like the inside of a wound, black; hideously mottled and scarred. They were humanoid but their limbs were spare and truncated, grotesquely twisted and hunched. Their weapons were crude yet brutal; some of them had approximated, hooked swords and axes, some of them held long, serrated knives and a few had small bows from which they fired knarled, black-fletched arrows. One of the arrows whistled past her face, startling Aubrey away from her horrified staring.

She hurried to Galadriel's side, ducking around Celeborn who held his sword high. Haldir stood beside Celeborn and the other wardens ranged in a circle around them. The orcs halted, staring fearfully at Galadriel, and Aubrey thought for a hopeful second that they would flee, but though they seemed to revile the pure light their instinct was clearly to destroy, not flee. One of the largest orcs ran forwards first, shrieking out a terrible war cry.

Almost before Aubrey realised what had happened, it fell to the ground, a long, white-feathered arrow lodged into its eye—Rúmil's work, she realised with something like pride. There was no moment of let-up. Even before the first carcass had finished heaving, the rest of the orc band ran forwards en masse, screaming and snarling. The elves moved as one, a regimented force in perfect sync delivering death upon the first line of orcs. The rank stench of orc blood rose into the night air and Aubrey was reminded of the time she had driven past an abattoir. She gagged, and this time could not stop a retch.

Celeborn cried out in anger and she looked up, her eyes widening when she saw what had caused his rage. The elven lord was engaged with four orcs, Haldir staved off another three, but one had slipped past the living line of defence and ran straight at Galadriel. Aubrey wanted to run. The orc was as tall as her, if not taller, and the crude sword it held aloft was longer than her arm, but she could not be cowardly. She could not bear to let her elven hosts down, not after the hours upon hours Haldir had spent teaching her. She tightened her grip on her sword and stepped in front of Galadriel.

The orc did not slow as it approached her. It swung its sword down like a hatchet, aiming at the crown of Aubrey's head. She knew she had no hope of blocking such a powerful blow, so she did not try, but instead ducked to the right. She was too close to the creature to swing her sword effectively—and God, the _stench_ —and had no time to unsheathe the dagger in her boot. Screaming out a war cry, and slammed her shoulder into the beast's side. The blow threw the orc's balance off and it roared, righting itself quickly. The seconds it had taken the orc to balance were precious, however, and they were Aubrey's. She stabbed at the orc, thrusting her sword with all of her might against its leather-armoured chest. She realised her mistake when her blade skidded over the boiled leather and caught in the laces down the orc's side.

"Shit!" Aubrey swore, tugging her blade loose. She managed to rip through most of the armour on the right side of the orcs body but her error had cost her any advantage she may have had. Before she could move out of the way, she took a glancing blow to her side. Her own mail shirt protected her but she was winded and stumbled, white star-bursting in her vision. She could see Haldir, and she knew that he could see her for he was screaming, terror and rage in equal measure on his face. There were five orcs on him now and he was fending them off easily, but he could not get away. She was on her own.

She recovered just in time to dodge the blow that would have taken her head from her shoulders. The orc seemed enraged by her continued survival, as if it had expected she would be easy to kill. Aubrey was empowered by its hatred. She was alone, but that didn't _matter._ She was fine.

She raised her sword and swung at the orc's unprotected side. She was parried but her move had been too quick for the orc to pick up any strength in its blow. She shoved its crude sword away and swung once more, concentrating her energy on the exposed portion of raw flesh beneath its shoulder. She saw that it had begun to anticipate her moves there, and so she slowed for a fraction of a second. Sure enough the orc raised its heavy sword and made to strike her down with it, but its blade never fell for she thrust her own sword deep into its side, grunting with the effort of cracking its warped bones and carving through its hideous sinew. The creature fell, twitching and grunting, onto the ground, bleeding thick, poisonous black blood onto her boots. Aubrey watched dispassionately, troubled by none of the conflict that had eaten her after she had killed the Dunlending.

The battle appeared to be dying around her, and soon there was quiet. She slumped onto her backside, exhausted to her very bones. She was sweating and smeared with black orc blood, and her side began to ache fiercely where she had been hit.

"Palarran!"

She looked up blearily. Haldir skidded to a halt beside her and fell to his knees, kicking aside the corpse of the orc. His eyes were wild and frantic. "Aubrey, melethril, are you hurt?"

"No," she said quickly, then winced, belying her words. "I mean—I'm okay."

"Are you sure? What happened?" he demanded, running his hands over her arms, searching for injury.

She gestured at the displaced carcass. "That. It get me in the side but I'm wearing that mail shirt, it's probably just bruised. Maybe a cracked rib."

He took a deep, calming breath, and sat back, taking her hands in his and kissed her knuckles fervently. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I was terrified."

"You should be proud, Marchwarden," Galadriel said from behind them.

Aubrey looked back over her shoulder. "Huh?"

"You stepped in front of me without thought, Aubrey, and fought valiantly. You saved both of our lives." Galadriel said gravely.

Aubrey flushed deeply. She was absolutely positive that Galadriel would have been absolutely fine on her own. "I don't know about that," she huffed.

Galadriel merely smiled enigmatically. Celeborn, his silver hair dishevelled and his sword coated in dark blood, dipped his head to the stunned girl. "You have my thanks and respect, Aubrey Palarran," he said.

Aubrey felt real, genuine pride flood through her. All of her training had come to this moment, and it had paid off. She _was_ proud of herself, was even proud of the burn in her side for it proved the danger she had been in, had _survived._ A slow smiled spread across her face and and looked around. She saw that all of the elves were unharmed and she breathed a sigh of relief, then realised that she did not see Rúmil.

She stood with Haldir's help and turned. Dawn was beginning to touch the sky and it lit up a scene of macabre fascination. The bodies of more than three dozen orcs were splayed out in varies stages of dismemberment, and the grass was soaked with rank blood. Finally, she spotted Rúmil, knelt behind one of the gorse bushes. She began to smile at him, before noticing that his cheeks were streaked with tears.

Haldir followed her gaze and his brows furrowed. "Brother!" he cried. "What is wrong?"

"The archer," Rúmil gasped.

They jogged around the bush, the other elves following at a cautious pace. Aubrey let out a soft, pained gasp. The pride that had buoyed her was quashed into nothing, and she hated the triumph she had felt for surely, surely it was her pride that had led to this fall.

Rúmil knelt beside a dark, sprawled form upon the floor, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Two of the hideous orc arrows pierced Fingo, one in his soft flank and the other just above his withers. Aubrey stumbled towards him, crying openly. The bay's eyes fluttered when he heard her and he let out a low, deep keening noise, his legs jack-knifing beneath him when he tried to stand and come to her.

She rushed to his side and fell to the ground, soothing him with gentle touches to his neck. A spider-web of veins stood out on his shoulder and his muscles trembled beneath her hands. Celeroch stood close by, as if he wanted to go the the fallen horse but would not disturb their anguish.

"We—we can—we can save him," Aubrey hiccupped. "He's still—he's still alive."

Rúmil shook his head through bitter tears. "The arrows are poisoned," he said softly. "We can only offer him a quick end."

" _No,"_ Aubrey snapped, petting uselessly at Fingo's mane. His wide, liquid eyes rolled back and fixed on her face, pained but still trusting and open. Aubrey was _furious—_ the elves,even her, they were knowing participants in this awful game but Fingo was _not,_ and in a horribly naïve way she had somehow thought that that would protect him. "It's not _fair,"_ she screamed.

Fingo jolted at the loud noise and she stuffed a fist into her mouth to quiet herself. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"Rúmil," Haldir said lowly. "Will you do it?"

A shudder rocked through Rúmil but he nodded. "Aubrey," he said. "He's not in pain now but the poison will start to hurt him soon. I need to get at his neck."

"No," she cried, "you can't kill him."

The brothers exchanged a look over her head and Haldir grasped her in his arms, tugging her back. "He's already dead," he murmured. "Don't let him suffer."

"But he _trusts us,"_ she said.

Rúmil's hands were steady even as tears stained his face. Aubrey could not watch, and buried her face in Haldir's filthy tunic. She heard a clean, swift noise and then the sound of Celeroch braying and crying. Aubrey shuddered, overwhelmed by the utter injustice of this world that she had thought of as beautiful, as _home._

When she looked back, Fingo was still beneath Rúmil's weeping form.


	42. Chapter 42

There was not time to bury Fingo. Aubrey shrieked at them, screamed that nothing could be as important as giving the brave, stubborn horse all that he deserved and she would not be calmed until Celeborn looked heavily into her eyes and shook his head.

"His sacrifice is tragic," Celeborn said, "but it cannot delay our journey. Do you not feel the world sicken as we wait?"

Aubrey trembled where she knelt beside Fingo, one hand running ceaselessly along his neck. He was cold, now, and she could not look at the small, clean hole left by Rúmil's knife without gagging. "So we just leave him here? Out in the open?"

"There is nothing else to do," Celeborn told her gently.

Rúmil, who had been silent, looked up. "We could build a cairn," he said. His voice was rough and his eyes were raw; in her grief Aubrey had forgotten that Fingo had been Rúmil's; that Rúmil had been there when the horse had been born.

Aubrey looked imploringly between Celeborn, Galadriel and Haldir. She did not think that Haldir would oppose the suggestion, but Celeborn was blisteringly practical, even more so than the Marchwarden.

Galadriel touched Celeborn's arm and shook her head softly. He sighed, and inclined his head. "Very well," he said. "We will erect a cairn for him, but if it is not finished by noon then we must move on."

o0o

Aubrey rubbed at the blood under her nails. It was half Fingo's and half hers from hauling the heavy rocks up from the river bank. They had found a number of large rocks and with all the elves helping Fingo's cairn was complete over an hour before Celeborn's deadline. Aubrey wanted to ask if she could go and find some flowers but decided not to push her luck. She bent and pressed a final kiss to the smooth surface of the stone that rested over Fingo's head and stood, ignoring the tears that fell from her cheeks onto the rocks. She turned to the demolished camp and saw Haldir stood waiting for her. His face was solemn and he looked almost apologetic. He held Celeroch's reins in one hand, and in the other, the reins of a white mare—one of the packhorses, she realised.

Aubrey shook her head even before he spoke. "I don't want to ride another horse."

"Yet you must; you cannot hope to walk all the way to the Greenwood." Haldir said gravely.

Aubrey wanted to tell him that she would, just as she had once walked all the way through Lórien on bleeding feet, just to spite him, but there was sorrow in his own eyes and, on the other side of the camp, she could see Rúmil looking up at Sirdal as if his heart was broken anew. "Alright," she said, her voice smaller than she had intended.

She accepted the reins of the white mare. "This is Fingo's bridle," she said accusingly. "That nick is from a thorn, in Lórien."

"We had no spare tack," Haldir explained ruefully.

Aubrey's jaw tightened; it felt horribly irreverent to sit upon Fingo's saddle, hold his reins in her hand when he was not there.

Haldir cleared his throat. "Her name is—"

"No," Aubrey said, and the word was almost a sob. "I don't want to know her name."

He swore softly in Sindarin and pulled her into his arms. "I am so sorry," he whispered against her ear. She wanted to push her face into her chest and sob until there was no longer any pain in her chest but she knew from sore experience that it would not work. Instead, she let Haldir kiss her cheek and then her forehead and then she turned in his arms to stare at her new mount. She was not fully white, Aubrey saw, but pale grey, like drifting mist over water. Her soft nose was darker grey as were her legs; her eyes were soft and gentle. Aubrey found herself longing for the stubborn spark in Fingo's eyes, but pushed away the longing and rubbed the mare's soft nose instead.

"We must move out," Haldir told her.

Aubrey nodded, taking a last, fortifying breath of his warm scent, before mounting the horse.

She found over the weeks of their journey that the mare was sweet and eager but there was a sliver of fire in her that Aubrey grew to appreciate. When Fingo's death had been behind them for nine days, Aubrey learned that the mare's name was Alfirin.

o0o

Great gates rose before their party, carved into the side of a mountain. At either side of the looming gates, Aubrey could see armoured guard, staring impassively out at the forest. No elves had come to meet them as they approached Thranduil's kingdom—when Aubrey had queried the lack of reception, Haldir had told her simply that Thranduil knew they were coming, and would await them in his own halls. Aubrey wasn't sure whether to be assured by the fact that the Elvenking trusted them enough to let them wander freely through his kingdom, or be fearful that she was being drawn firmly into the lion's den.

The elves guarding the great gates nodded to Celeborn and Galadriel; at a touch from the guards the doors swung upon without a sound. Aubrey tightened her grip on Alfirin's reins and peered nervously into the gaping cavern revealed. Before she could properly take in her first glimpse of the Elvenking's palace, their party moved forwards once more. The horses split into single file and crossed a narrow, elegantly carved stone bridge. Far, far below Alfirin's steady hooves, a river raged through a narrow gully. Aubrey was reminded of deep, treacherous moats surrounding castles and swallowed thickly, certain that she would find no welcome beyond the great doors.

They dismounted in the wide courtyard on the other side of the bridge. The guards who had stood at either side of the doors stepped forwards and inclined their heads to Celeborn and Galadriel.

"Welcome to Eryn Galen, my Lord and Lady," one of the guards said. "King Thranduil anticipates your company shortly."

Aubrey wrinkled her nose. There was something about the guard's phrasing that troubled her. Perhaps it was the fact that _anticipates_ struck her as a very odd way to say _welcomes._ A bad feeling stirred in her stomach and she touched one hand to the sword at her hip. Haldir, sensing her distress, took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly.

"Thank you, mellon nin, we shall greet the king without delay. Will you stable our mounts?" Celeborn asked.

The guard bowed once more. Though she was reluctant to hand of Alfirin's reins, Aubrey found herself tugged along by Haldir and Rúmil. The darkness of the Elvenking's halls was startling after the bright light of the forest clearing and Aubrey's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the change. She stood, blinking, in the doorway for a long moment and then, when her eyes had adjusted, her mouth fell open in shock.

 _Cavernous_ was newly defined in her mind. The great cave she found herself in extended beyond the limits of her vision. It could have swallowed Caras Galadhon twice over in both length and depth. It was not dark as she had originally thought, but lit softly by hundreds of thousands of lamps that were strung from the rocky walls and ceilings and gleamed from hundreds of walkways. She saw that the walkways and rooms that she could see were partly carved from rock, but they were also carved into the twining roots of trees that grew down from the cavern roof. Aubrey was struck with the thought that she stood in a subversion of Caras Galadhon—where the city of Lórien was built on branches and soared into the sky, the Elvenking's palace sunk into the earth on deep roots. Even the lights were opposed—the cool, blue-white lamps of Lórien were replaced here by a gentle, yellow-orange luminescence. Aubrey had to admit the splendour of the realm she found herself in, though she thought that it was not as beautiful as Lothlórien.

"It is magnificent, is it not?" Haldir said.

Aubrey realised he addressed both her and Rúmil and recalled that this was Rúmil's first visit to Eryn Galen as well. She took some comfort in the fact that she was not the only one a stranger to this vast kingdom and steeled her courage. Their party was led by another set of armoured guards; they did not speak beyond a perfunctory greeting and turned quickly, clearly expecting the Lórien party to follow them onto a twining root path.

Aubrey lost herself in studying the palace—city?—they were led through, and became so enchanted as they walked that their arrival in the throne room was startling. As they walked, Aubrey had fallen behind Haldir's longer strides, but she edged around him to see.

The space was smaller than she had thought and was dominated by steps leading up to a great throne decorated with antlers. It was not a room in the strictest sense, but a raised and isolated platform, from which its occupier could survey his entire kingdom by turning his head. The Elvenking himself gazed down at them from his throne. The crown upon his golden hair was styled in the manner of his throne to look like the wicked prongs of a stag's antlers.

Tension filled the air around them as they waited for the king to speak. His wintery gaze scanned their group, alighting on each elf in turn before finally resting upon Aubrey. She shivered under his attention and broke his gaze, entirely disconcerted. A cold, thin smile sharpened the king's face and he stood, taking up a carved wooden staff from beside his throne. He descended the stairs slowly, still scanning their party.

When at last he reached their level, the Elvenking met Galadriel's steady gaze. He was taller than her by some significant degree and seemed to revel in this advantage.

"Lady Galadriel," he said. "To what do I owe this intrusion?"

Aubrey visibly flinched at his blatant disrespect. Around her, the wardens shifted and she saw Celeborn narrow his eyes, but Galadriel was serene. She could not even offer the Elvenking the excuse of ignorance—he was quite deliberately provocative, which only alarmed her more.

"Our cause is a joint one, Thranduil, as well you are aware. I come to offer aide and insight when your realm is troubled." Galadriel said calmly.

Thranduil's eyes cooled yet further. "You come to tell me what I already know, then."

"Thranduil," Galadriel began, but he looked up sharply and his gaze once more found Aubrey.

"And what is this? A mortal, brought into the heart of my realm? Is this the aide you have offered me—the very cause of my problems?"

Haldir tensed beside Aubrey. "King Thranduil," he said, "I would know what you mean by that."

"It is no co-incidence that this . . . child . . . appeared in your realm just as the sickness began to steal over mine." Thranduil snapped.

Aubrey's heart began to pound in her chest. "How—" her voice almost died in her throat under Thranduil's wintery eyes, but she pressed on. "How do you know when I came here?"

"Tell me," he commanded her, ignoring her question. "How did you set the sickness in my realm? Are you an agent of evil?"

The preposterous nature of the question threw Aubrey and she could only gape at him for a moment. "I—of course not!"

" _Of course not,"_ mocked the Elvenking. "Galadriel, you cannot hope to speak peace and goodwill in my court when you bring this foul creature into my home."

"Aubrey is a warden of Lothlórien," Celeborn intoned. "She is a trusted citizen of our forest."

For a second, there was a flicker of emotion in Thranduil's eyes, but he froze almost instantly. "Not this forest," he snapped. "Guards! Take this mortal to the dungeons."

Pandemonium exploded upon the small platform as the Lórien elves immediately began to loudly protest, non louder than Haldir himself.

Haldir thrust Aubrey into Rúmil's arms and drew his sword, his eyes darting from Thranduil to the approaching guards. Thranduil's guards gave pause when faced with the Marchwarden's blade, but at a nod from their king drew their own swords.

"Stop this!"

Galadriel's command rang out and the elves went instantly still. Aubrey could not be certain whether it was a trick of light, but she was sure that the atmosphere grew slightly darker as Galadriel's radiance multiplied. The elven lady's voice was low and raspy when she spoke and even Thranduil looked cowed. "Would you have your kin draw elven blood, Thranduil Oropherion?"

Thranduil bared his teeth in a furious snarl. "That crime belongs to your own kin, does it not? I will not be satisfied whilst that creature is in my realm unguarded. I know what she is."

His guards advanced once more and Haldir raised his sword, grim intention on his face. Aubrey, desperate and terrified but absolutely certain that she could not let Haldir harm his own kin on her behalf struggled free from Rúmil's grasp. She gripped Haldir's sword arm and tugged vainly against his hold.

"Get back, meleth," he told her lowly, his eyes never leaving the approaching guards.

"Stop this!" she bade him. "I'll go with them. I don't mind."

"Aubrey—"

"Stand down, Marchwarden," Galadriel said finally.

Haldir looked from Aubrey to his lady and back again. "I—"

"It's okay," Aubrey whispered. "This battle cannot be won now. Later, fight later."

With quiet fury burning in his eyes, Haldir subsided and sheathed his sword. As soon as Curmegil rested in its scabbard, Aubrey was dragged into the tight grip of one of Thranduil's guards. She let herself be led away, straining back to hear what was happening in the throne room until she could no longer see the elves of Lórien.

o0o

Haldir gave a great cry of rage and flung his pack against the wall with as much strength as he could muster.

Once Aubrey had been led— _dragged—_ from the throne room, their discussion had concluded briskly. Thranduil had granted them rooms with ill grace and then dismissed them promptly, ostensibly to hurry their solution to the sickness that plagued his realm.

In that moment, Haldir wanted nothing more than to take Aubrey from whatever dank cell she had been taken to and leave Thranduil to rot with his forest. He pushed away the dark thought and rubbed a hand over his face. Travelling had left him weary and he was disturbed by his inability to do anything when Aubrey had been apprehended. He had never in his life felt so _powerless_ and it troubled him deeply.

He stood slowly. "I'm going to find Aubrey," he muttered.

Rúmil looked up from a sketch. "You realise that if you, ah, _rescue_ her, then our attempts to work with Thranduil will be somewhat hampered?"

Haldir sighed heavily. "I just want to go to her. I would not leave her alone in Thranduil's dungeons."

o0o

The cell Aubrey had been 'escorted' to was little more than a hole hewn into the rock. Far below the throne room, set into the cavern wall, the cell was just large enough for her to take two paces. She could stand but the ceiling would not allow her to raise her arms above her head.

Tears of frustration and impotent fury had risen in her eyes when she had first been locked in the cell, but she had quickly dismissed them in favour of calling out to the guard who stood outside her cell. He had yet to respond to her numerous salutations; Aubrey felt as if she was trying to hail a beefeater outside Buckingham palace.

Footsteps on the path that wound above her head caught Aubrey's attention and she sat up from where she had slouched against the cell wall. She let herself hope that she was going to be released—or at least that a friendly face had come to talk to her.

Her silent guard nodded to her visitor and stepped away, leaving Aubrey alone with a horrible familiar silhouette. Orophin stepped into the light of the lantern that hung above her cell and regarded her with cool curiosity. Aubrey felt of the forgiveness and sympathy she had managed to find for Haldir's brother melt away.

"Have you come to laugh? To celebrate that at last the evil mortal is locked away, where I should be?" Aubrey snarled, standing quickly.

The elf who she had once dearly loved inclined his head. "I warned Thranduil about what you were," he said solemnly. "It is . . . gratifying, to see that he took my advice."

"You bastard," she cried. "I should have known it was your fault. How long have you been slithering around Eryn Galen?"

"Long enough to appreciate the harm you have spread here, as well as Lórien." He snapped.

"This again?" Aubrey scoffed. "I have done _nothing."_

"Can Haldir attest to that? Or have you killed him yet? Have I still two brothers?" Orophin demanded, reaching forwards to clench the bars of her cell in a white-knuckled grip.

A hand fell upon his shoulder and he was yanked away from the bars. Aubrey was not sure how much Haldir had heard, but his eyes were flinty with rage. "I assure you," Haldir said, deathly quiet, "I am quite alive."


	43. Chapter 43

Orophin stood, shuddering, in Haldir's grasp. His gaze was fixed steadily on the floor, yet still Haldir could see the tears gathering in his eyes. He was sick with it—he had felt such rage, seeing Orophin threaten Aubrey, knowing that her imprisonment was his brother's fault, but at the same time he looked at Orophin and saw fear in his eyes. That his own brother would fear him turned Haldir's stomach and he wanted to release Orophin, wanted to pull him into his embrace and assure him that everything would be _alright,_ if only he would abandon the obscure madness that had taken hold of him.

Orophin's eyes flicked over Haldir's shoulder to Aubrey's cell and rage stirred in their blue depths. Haldir hardened his heart and tightened his grip ruthlessly, jerking Orophin forwards and slamming his back into the cavern wall beside Aubrey's cell. "Do not look at her," he snarled. "You will _not_ harm her."

"No," Orophin conceded shakily, his eyes darting to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the cell, "but she will harm you."

"You have lost any right you may once have had to care about that."

Orophin clenched his teeth and his nostrils flared furiously. "You are my _brother,"_ he protested. "For two thousand years we have loved each other. I have the _greatest_ right."

"No longer. My brother is no murderer, my brother would not spread lies throughout the kingdom, foster mistrust and anger where cooperation is sorely needed." Haldir told him icily. "My brother is _gone."_

"You can't _see_ it," Orophin seethed. "You're _blinded_ by her and it makes me sick to see." With that, he jerked himself from Haldir's grasp and stumbled away. Haldir let his hands close on air and tried to ignore the fact that he could easily have stopped him had he _really_ wanted to.

The air seemed to vibrate with tension around him long after Orophin's footsteps faded. His face was flushed with anger and he could feel hot tears at the back of his eyes, tears fostered in fury, worry, pain. Part of him wondered whether it would have been easier if Aubrey had never come to Lórien. He and his brothers would have carried on as they had always, Orophin would have stayed untouched by madness. For a second he found the image appealing, and hated himself for it; having known Aubrey's love he could never go back. To wish her gone would be to wish a part of himself away and he shied from the phantom pain of it.

"Haldir?" Aubrey asked shakily.

He turned back to her, steadying his breath. "I . . . forgive me. He is further gone than I had feared."

"It's not your fault," she whispered, stretching her hand out through the bars. Before she could take his hand, the bars became too narrow for her arm and she stopped, frustrated. "Hold my hand," she bade him.

He took her hand in his and reached for the other, clasping their hands together on the outside of the bars. "You will not be here long," he said. "Thranduil was simply making his point, he will not risk strife with Galadriel."

"Why?"

Haldir's eyes glimmered. "He fears her, I think." He said conspiratorially.

Aubrey let herself smile. "I can believe that. Now—go. You can't wait here forever, you must have things to do."

He looked slightly put out. "I would not abandon you—"

"Oh, never mind that. I'm stuck here, there's no reason you should be too. Go and get me out!" she encouraged him, forcing herself to smile.

He bit his tongue, wanting to argue almost for the sake of it, so he would have an excuse to stay; it was not that he could not bare to be parted from her, but he could not escape the terrible weight of guilt that told him it was _his_ fault she was here, his fault for not stopping Orophin, for bringing her to Thranduil's realm in the first place. He sighed softly and released her hands. "I cannot kiss you through these bars," he said softly. "But know that once you are free I shall kiss you until you see all the stars of Elbereth."

"I'll hold you to that," she grinned.

o0o

Orophin clenched his hands into tight fists to stop them from shaking so badly. The confrontation with Haldir had shaken him badly. He could barely comprehend Haldir's _blindness._ All that he had done to try and show him the way and yet still he could not, _would_ not see the evil behind Aubrey's human façade.

He found himself wandering the hallways of Thranduil's underground palace, clenching his hands harder and harder as he walked, until his nails bit into his palms, yet still he could not stop trembling. He let himself pant so that he would not sob and stopped, sinking back against the dry, solid rock wall of a shadowed hall. Everything had gone so terribly, horrifically wrong and he could not quite place where it had happened.

 _Haldir is lost to me,_ he realised. The knowledge ripped through him, icily cold in his heart, but irrefutable. Breathing heavily, Orophin squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands to his face.

"I did all I could," he whispered to the air. "Eru, please, I did all I could."

He let himself sob then, let the grief of his brother's imminent death wrack through his body and leave him gutted, leave him a stunningly ironic copy of the Haldir he had seen in the mirror. _Two thousand years of brotherhood, lost to this mortal demon._ He sat undisturbed for hours, until his joints felt stiff and cold had begun to seep into his body, hurried by the hollowness he felt in his chest. Never in his life had Orophin felt so utterly alone.

At last, he quieted, out of necessity if nothing more. Slow awareness crept through him and he stood slowly, sensing suddenly that absolution could be his. He was almost afraid to hope for it, convinced that merely thinking of the shimmering, fragile thought would shatter it. But as long as he stood, silent as possible, alone with nothing but his new hope in the corridor, it remained.

"Rúmil," he breathed. "Rúmil can be saved."

o0o

Haldir rolled his shoulders beneath his heavy ceremonial cloak and tried to stare straight ahead. He had once revelled in the ceremonial circumstance of official meetings, but after so many years he was bored. He met the gaze of his peer, Thranduil's chief-of-guard, a tall elleth with autumn-red hair. She stood rigidly straight, almost vibrating in her quest to keep perfectly still. Haldir smirked; she was clearly new to such occasions. She caught his smile and shot him a disapproving glance from her position at Thranduil's shoulder, mirroring his position flanking Galadriel and Celeborn.

"Thranduil," Galadriel began, a gravitas to her tone that betrayed her solemnity. "We of Lórien have journeyed here to offer aid to you, not to deceive or harm. Differences there may be between us but we are all akin to one another."

Thranduil met her gaze unflinchingly. "What proof have I that you mean me aid? In so perilous a time for my realm I cannot afford to risk my people."

Haldir wanted to groan in frustration. It was obvious by his words that Thranduil loved his people and cared for his realm; it was his infamous pride that halted him now, the same pride that had left Aubrey trapped in a dark cell.

"You do not have time for proof and promises," Celeborn said severely. "Your realm is sickening even as we speak. Will you let it decay rather than accept our help?"

Thranduil's lips thinned. "Very well," he said icily. "What have you to offer?

"Aubrey has a connection to the forest," Galadriel said brusquely. "It is neither natural nor easy and she requires the aid of elves to connect with it, but once joined she is able to see a truth that is hidden from us. It was she who learned of the danger you face."

"Aubrey?" Thranduil questioned, before recognition dawned in his eyes. "Of course. The mortal I have locked in my dungeon. You want me to—what? Release her? Let her loose upon Eryn Galen?"

"She may be your only hope."

The Elvenking's eyes narrowed. "You will forgive me if I suspect an ulterior motive," he said. "Your Marchwarden, he loves her."

Galadriel nodded to him and Haldir stepped forth. "I do," he admitted.

"Your brother told me of this, how she has bewitched you."

Haldir levelled his gaze and met Thranduil's eyes firmly with his own, staring into their wintery depths unflinchingly. "Do I seem bewitched to you?" he finally asked.

Thranduil laughed, a dark, humourless laugh. "No more than any ellon in love, I grant. Tell me, then—what was your brother's cause?"

"He is gone mad," Haldir said plainly. "We travelled, Aubrey, Orophin and I, to Imladris . . . on the way back to Lothlórien we crossed through Fangorn and there Orophin and I helped Aubrey to bond her mind to the forest. As we did so, Orophin saw me fëa . . . saw my love for her. He realised that upon her death, mine would become likely and it drove him mad." He was not sure whether it was some hitherto buried charitable instinct, or whether he was simply keen to avoid his family being viewed as dangerous, but Haldir felt compelled to add, "I am sure that he believes utterly he is doing the right thing. He is simply lost."

The Elvenking scoffed. "He thinks the girl is a minion of Morgoth, he is further gone than that."

Haldir tightened his jaw and looked away. "Be that as it may, Orophin has little to do with this. Will you release Aubrey and allow her to aid you?"

Thranduil regarded him evenly. "I will release her," he said. "I will speak with her. And if I believe she can aid Eryn Galen, I will do all that I can to help you."

"What if you do not?" Celeborn asked quietly.

Thranduil turned to his silent chief-of-guard. "Bring the girl."

o0o

Hours after Haldir left, a shadow fell across the front of Aubrey's cell and she looked up, startled, to meet the gaze of a willowy elleth.

"Who are you?" she demanded, standing as quickly as the cramped cell would allow.

The elleth produced a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the barred door. "I am the chief of the Elvenking's guard. I have come to take you to him."

Aubrey hesitated. "What about my friends? Haldir and Rúmil, Galadriel and Celeborn?"

"The elves of Lórien are also there," the guard said.

Reassured, she hurried to follow. The guard did not speak again as they walked and the air was silent save for the distant roar of fast water and Aubrey's breath as they hastily climbed more and more stairs. She was winded by the time they reached the chamber which held the throne, but held her head high. Thranduil stood before the stairs to his throne, bedecked in robes of crimson and gold, a thorned crown upon his head. Two guards formed his entourage, mirroring the trio of elves present from Lórien—Haldir, Celeborn and Galadriel.

Aubrey fought her wish to run to Haldir and instead stared unflinchingly at the Elvenking, only consenting to dip her head. She suspected that she was meant to bow, but he was not her king and never would be.

"Mortal," Thranduil addressed her, and she almost laughed at how reminiscent his tone was of Haldir's when they had first met. "Come. Stand before me."

She walked slowly to stand before him, her skin prickling. He was so much taller than her that she had to crane her neck back to look at his face rather than the fine stitching of his tunic. "I didn't harm the forest," she told him, and felt proud of how steady her voice was, though her hands were clammy.

He dipped his head until their eyes were directly level and then he _stared._ Aubrey was unnerved by how intense his gaze was, but she could not look away. She felt as if she were caught in a nightmare, fixed rigidly in place with _something_ behind her, unable to look around. She was transfixed by Thranduil's wintery gaze, utterly and completely. She knew that he was searching for some form of dishonesty in her but the longer he stared the more she became convinced that he was reading deeper than that, seeing her mind, her thoughts, her soul. It was an invasive feeling in the worst possible of ways, for she had allowed it.

Angry with herself for letting him search the depths of her consciousness, angry with him for taking the liberty to do it, angry with Galadriel and Celeborn and Haldir for letting him, Aubrey snapped. She let herself stare back into Thranduil and she _saw._

She'd read books, back in her world, that talked about reading people's eyes, about really seeing the truth of someone in their gaze. She'd always found it nonsense; an eye had only ever been an eye to her. But as she stared at Thranduil, stared _back_ at Thranduil, she understood. His blue eyes shimmered, as if they were used to reflecting back what he wanted people to see. There was a glassy, watery tint that spoke of remembered tears and a hollow, flawed depth. Aubrey gasped and she could not help but back away, for she _felt_ him and he was in agony.

Thousands of years of endless, echoing pain was made clear to her and she understood at last how he could care so obviously about his realm and still appear so terrible aloof. His eyes were so used to holding pain that they had forgotten how to show anything else.

"You—" she started, but he stood abruptly, effectively cutting her off.

His eyes iced over once more but there was a hint of something like fear, or possibly respect, in the set of his jaw. "I believe you," he snapped. "You mean no harm," he said, his voice slightly softer.

Relieved and still faintly stunned by what she had seen, Aubrey stepped backwards until she stood beside Haldir. She slipped her hand into his and let herself be comforted by his warm palm against hers. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

The Elvenking sighed softly. "We must go out into the forest," he said. "If you are agreeable, I would like to see you bond with the forest. Let us see if you can fight this darkness where we have failed."


	44. Chapter 44

Orophin stood in the doorway of Rúmil's chamber for several long minutes before he was noticed. Rúmil spun around suddenly, one hand going to his belt where a small dagger hung. His eyes hardened when he saw Orophin blocking the doorway, yet there was an uncertain set to his jaw that reminded Orophin of the child Rúmil had been, the little brother who had adored him once.

"Rúmil," he said, softly, entreatingly.

He saw Rúmil swallow. His hand did not fall from his dagger. "What do you want?" he demanded. His voice was strong, belying the tremor in his hands.

Orophin inclined his head. "I only want to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," Rúmil retorted. He clenched his fist around his dagger, stilling the tremble in his arms. "Get out."

"Is that what two thousand years is worth? Not even an explanation?" Orophin pressed, stepping forwards. Rúmil flinched backwards and he halted, his stomach rolling. He could barely stand the fierce distrust on Rúmil's face.

"I have all the explanation I need," Rúmil said lowly. "Haldir told us all that you have done, and I see it here; the distrust of our kin for Haldir himself! I know that you are poisoned with madness, you are spreading this madness around."

Orophin shook his head and walked slowly forwards, his hands lowered and out, as if he were approaching a shying horse. " _Haldir_ told you? Do you not see, brother? It is he who is taken with madness. I admit," he said softly, "that I was wrong to deceive you. I should have spoken out, spoken openly. I was so afraid for our brother that I could not think of what to do. But, Rúmil, as wrong as my methods may have been, you must see that I was right, that I acted for good!"

"No," Rúmil shook his head. "No, Orophin. You were _wrong._ Aubrey is not evil, could never be evil."

 _Fool,_ Orophin thought bitterly, but he stuck to his tack, sure that he would wear Rúmil down if he let himself seem to be taken in by the human's fallacy. "Perhaps not," he said peaceably. "Perhaps she does not mean to cause this destruction, but even you—even _Haldir—_ cannot deny that she does."

"You . . . you have no proof that she's harming Eryn Galen," Rúmil muttered.

Orophin bit his lip, tamping down a smile; he could see that Rúmil was wavering. "But our brother," he said urgently. "You've seen it even more than I have for you were not forced away! His love for her . . . Rúmil, Haldir is going to die."

Rúmil shut his eyes, as if by some miracle that would shut out the terrible truth that Orophin told. "He might not," he said. "Thranduil didn't."

"Is his life much better?" Orophin went on. "A half-life, a life of bitterness and sadness, grief and pain? Would Haldir survive such a life?"

Rúmil's eyes blinked open. He looked lost and scared, the same expression he had once worn as an elfling when he had earned Haldir's anger and been certain that he had nowhere to go, only now he had the weary surety that the future he faced was far bleaker. "I can't hurt Aubrey," he whispered. "I love her. She . . . she is as a sister to me; and I will not hurt Haldir through her."

"Rúmil," Orophin pressed, reaching for the ellon. " _Brother."_

"No!" Rúmil jerked back. "Haldir was right. You are lost to us. Get out of here now and I won't tell Haldir that you were here."

Orophin narrowed his eyes. "You are decided, then? You will not help me save Haldir?"

"I'm going to help Aubrey save Eryn Galen," he said coolly. "I'm going to help her connect to the forest, and then when we have saved the forest, I'm going to try and save you."

"I don't need saving," Orophin snarled.

Rúmil shook his head sadly. "We shall see, brother. Now get out of my way—I must help Aubrey."

o0o

Aubrey spun around with her head titled back, a smile stretched across her face. She had not been in the cell for that long, but the space had been so tiny that she felt relieved to be free of its confines. She breathed in the smell of the forest and sighed happily.

"If you are quite finished," Thranduil said icily, "you have a job to do."

Looking back at the Elvenking, Aubrey narrowed her eyes. "Sorry," she said. "I was just stretching and enjoying the sunlight. Someone shoved me in this tiny little cell, put a crick in my neck."

Though he pursed his lips, Thranduil did not comment. Aubrey had the distinct sensation that she was being let off. She heard a hurriedly stifled laugh from behind her and met Rúmil's grin with one of her own. Thranduil looked disgustedly between them and stalked away, Celeborn and Galadriel closely behind him. Haldir and Rúmil waited behind for her, along with the still silent chief of Thranduil's guard.

The two Lórien elves fell into step beside Aubrey and Haldir slipped his hand into hers. "You are very cheerful," he remarked lightly.

"I know," she said. "I . . . I guess, I know how serious this is, how bad the forest is, but I feel really hopeful. I know I can fix it. I'm just optimistic, I suppose."

"Nothing wrong with that," Rúmil grinned. "Do you know what optimism is, Haldir?"

Affecting a look of massive offence, Haldir raised one eyebrow. "As well as you know what realism is, I assure you."

"He has you there," Aubrey said sagely.

"Both of you attacking me at once?" Rúmil bemoaned. "I shall not stand for it."

"Sit down, then," she told him.

o0o

They caught up to Thranduil, Celeborn and Galadriel when the three elven rulers halted beside a large, spreading oak tree. They were perhaps half a mile from the palace gates, in a shaded glade.

"This tree was planted in the courtyard of my father's palace . . . the place that has become Dol Guldur. It has a strong link to the southern forest; if you are to make any connection and discover the cause of the illness there, it shall be from this tree." Thranduil said gravely.

The levity that Aubrey had felt on the way to the oak fell away as she gazed up at its gigantic trunk. She paced forwards slowly until she stood within arm's length of the tree's rough bark. She set her hand against the tree, hoping for a faint, fleeting second that she would be able to connect to the tree without any aide, but there was nothing beneath her touch save for the cool bark.

"Shall we?" she asked softly.

Without speaking, Haldir and Rúmil flanked her, each of them setting a hand over hers and pressing her palms tightly against the tree. Galadriel and Celeborn came to Haldir's other side and Thranduil to Rúmil's. When all five of the elves were touching, Aubrey began to feel a flicker of awareness, the spark of their collective fëa beside her. She clenched her teeth, stealing herself for the pain that was sure to come when she bonded to the forest.

"Are you sure?" Haldir whispered.

Aubrey knew he referred not just to the pain of joining, but to her damaged soul and the danger the binding brought. She nodded firmly. "I have to do this," she told him and he acquiesced.

"Do not attempt to heal any damage, even if you think you can," Galadriel warned. "We must observe your connection to Eryn Galen before you attempt any more than observation."

"Can I try and find the route of the problem?" she queried.

Galadriel and Celeborn shared a look, and through the medium of their clasped hands, Aubrey felt a whisper, like a breeze against her face—they were speaking in their minds, she realised. Galadriel blinked, and the sensation faded. "You may," she said warily. "But do not stretch the connection."

"Are we all prepared?" Thranduil asked. The semi-circle of elves and mortal nodded. Thranduil bowed his head until his forehead almost brushed the oak tree. "Very well," he said. "Begin."

A now familiar pain coursed through Aubrey. There was the sensation of being immersed in hot water, boiling water, then the white-hot roaring of a million beings forcing their way into her mind. Every tree and plant in the forest was a part of her so suddenly and violently that she was amazed all over again that the weight of it did not kill her. The burning sensation did not cease—it was the elves, she realised, their fëa burning like miniature suns. She felt the familiar caress of Haldir's fëa and the blistering radiance of Galadriel and Celeborn. A few feet from her she registered a sensation that she flinched from; Thranduil's fëa pulsed like a gaping wound; he was haemorrhaging with grief every single second. She could not contemplate the pain of the loss that had caused such an impact upon the stony elf. Ashamed of her weakness, Aubrey looked away from him, because she could not bear what he had to face every day.

She let herself be distracted by the forest, let Eryn Galen draw her in and sooth the weight and the pain of the bonding. She searched for a song such as she had heard in the consciousness of Fangorn and Lothlórien, but there was nothing to be heard. Beginning to worry, Aubrey sank deeper, feeling her mind drifting through the forest like a leaf on the wind.

There was song, she found with relief, but it was jarring and discordant, falling apart at the seams where darkness, the same thick cloying darkness that had troubled her dreams for weeks, clung to the voices.

_Far from sweet Valinor the Greenwood grew strong;_

_Ours to shelter who avoided the song._

_Far from sweet Valinor the Greenwood—ails_

_Poisoned, darkened, great Greenwood fails._

_Sickness and darkness in the heart lies,_

_First of the Eldar kingdoms, the Greenwood dies._

The terrible sorrow of the lament was matched only by the anger in each and every voice. The Greenwood was dying, but it had not died, and it was furious. Aubrey saw then her purpose—an avatar for the forest, outside of the natural connection between forest and elves she could act independently. She saw how she might reconnect lines of the song that had been decayed by darkness, saw how she might strip away the poison and restart the song. She saw the forest like a tapestry, each line of song a thread, most of them fraying and many snapped—but she could reweave it.

 _This is my purpose,_ she thought with determination. _This is my task._

o0o

Rage burned through Orophin as he fled the palace. Rúmil's refusal of his help angered him and yet hurt him deeply, for Rúmil had given up not just on him, but on any hope of saving Haldir. His last words spun around Orophin's mind. _I must help Aubrey._

He would not let her succeed in her plan to destroy the forest. His brothers would not listen to him, would not accept his help, but the forest still could be saved, if only he could figure out how. The first thing to do would be to sever her connection to the forest—permanently, if it came to that. He ran swiftly through the forest, passing by the trees closest to the palace in favour of one further out where he would not be disturbed. If even Thranduil had fallen under Aubrey's spell, he could hope for no help from the woodland elves.

At last he skidded to a halt at the base of a slender aspen tree which hugged the bank of a small stream. The stream would help his connection to the other trees—it was perfect, a gift from Eru himself to aid him. With not a second further to lose, Orophin pressed his hands to the bark of the tree and let his fëa blend with the living mind of the forest. He was whipped along as soon as he slipped into the trees and he frowned—never before had Lórien or any other realm been so vibrant in its interaction with him. Eryn Galen wished to show him something, so he let himself be whirled through a current of consciousness until he felt his fëa brush tentatively against the soul of an ancient oak.

He saw instantly what he had been meant to see. This was where Aubrey made her link to the forest. He recognised the fëa of his two brothers with a lance of grief; they were as familiar to him as his own and yet they rejected him. He hardened his heart and turned away from the familiar radiance, focusing instead upon the dim, faintly luminescent apparition between them. Aubrey's soul was dull in comparison to his, to any elves', and yet it held none of the darkness he had expected to see. It was exactly as he remembered it from that long, long ago bonding in Fangorn. The tentative love he had seen between her and his brother then had blossomed; Haldir's fëa was entwined with her soul irrevocably, undeniably. He knew instantly that he had been correct in Fangorn—her death would destroy him. Thranduil's shattered fëa provided a sickening portrait of Haldir's future and Orophin gritted his teeth against the rage that rose within him.

He let his mind drift between the mingled fëa of the elves who aided Aubrey in her unnatural connection until he had slipped down beside her and could examine her link with the forest. He searched for the darkness, searched for the poison he knew that she was pouring into the forest, and found . . . nothing.

Frustrated, Orophin pushed harder, taking care to mask himself to avoid detection, yet still there was only a slightly strained connection on Aubrey's side. On the part of Eryn Galen, Aubrey's touch felt like a balm, a soothing presence against the sickness of Dol Guldur. Orophin pulled back, confusion buzzing through him. He did not _understand._ Desperate now, he plunged into the link between Aubrey and the forest and followed it, hearing the same discordant song that she did for the first time. He _saw,_ he saw and he knew and he was horrified.

Roughly, ruthlessly, so violently that his head was spinning with the quick return to his physical body, Orophin pulled away from the aspen and spun, collapsing to his knees. He fell forwards onto his hands and let out a great sob, and then another. He bit his lip on any further tears for he did not have time. Allowing himself exactly one minute to compose himself, Orophin pushed his hands deep into the soil beneath him. Just as he had sensed the battle at the edge of Eryn Galen when first he had arrived, he now sensed the oncoming tide of another fight. Time had run so short, so terribly short because of his interference, and now a new threat arose and approached like a rolling storm, to vast and terrible to halt.

 _My fault,_ he thought, and then whispered it aloud. "My _fault."_

If only he had seen, had known that he was the blind one, the one taken by madness. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure whether he spoke to Haldir, Aubrey or the forest itself. He pushed himself up, pressed his eyes tightly closed to seal away any more tears, and then he ran.

o0o

Aubrey slumped onto her backside, her head pounding. The connection to the forest had come slightly easier this time—perhaps it was familiarity with the sensation, or her growing bond with the elves who aided the connection, but despite the ease of connection and the swift dismissal of the pain, she had never felt so terrible afterwards.

Beside her, the elves looked no better. Haldir's face had taken on a grey pallor and Rúmil looked queasy. Only Thranduil stood, serene, and she thought that his stoicism was perhaps only because he could not bear to admit such weakness before a mortal.

"Are you okay?" she asked Haldir, running a hand through his hair.

He nodded. "Just . . . tired."

"What did you see?" Thranduil demanded. His voice was tight, as if he had to fight hard to keep it level.

Aubrey rubbed at her temples. "I saw the sickness, and where it comes from. A place in the heart of the forest. I heard the song."

"Can you heal it?"

She swallowed and nodded cautiously. "I think so . . . I felt as if I should try, but Galadriel told me not to."

"I was worried that with the damage to your soul, to try and heal the forest would prove too taxing for your mind," Galadriel said softly.

Aubrey swallowed. "But I have to do it," she said.

The Lady of Light nodded soothingly. "There may be a way," she said. "You will need to rest first, but I think you may just survive this."

Before she could ask how long she would need to rest for, the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush reached her ears. She looked up sharply and stood, ignoring the pounding in her head—no matter a headache, none of the elves were in any fit state to stand, let alone fight. She would defend them if this turned out to be an enemy.

She faltered when instead of an orc, Orophin blundered into the glade. His eyes were wild and red-rimmed, but for the first time in so long, he did not look at her with hatred.

"Orophin?" she murmured. Behind her, Haldir and Rúmil struggled to their feet. Haldir glared hotly at Orophin, Rúmil looked uncomfortably away.

Orophin gestured to her and his eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry," he gasped.

Aubrey frowned. "What?"

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "I was wrong . . . and I have doomed us all."

"What do you mean by this?" Galadriel demanded.

Orophin's eyes flickered from her to Celeborn to Thranduil but he ignored the three rulers in favour of staring at Haldir. "I joined to the forest as you did," he said lowly. "I had meant to sever Aubrey's connection to the wood permanently." From the way Haldir went rigid behind her, Aubrey guessed that would have been Bad. "But . . . I saw the connection you had to the forest, Aubrey," he said, staring at her. His eyes bored into her, begging for absolution or anguish, she could not tell which. "I saw that you _helped_ and I . . . I am so _sorry,"_ he said again.

"Eru above, _what have you done?"_ Haldir snarled.

Orophin shivered. "The darkness has sensed our presence in the forest," he said. "I saw it, the forest showed me. I . . . I delayed you too long, Aubrey, there is no time left to heal the forest. Orcs are coming—at least five hundred, maybe more."

"When are they coming—where did you see them?" Thranduil pressed, his icy exterior cracking.

"They are already on their way."


	45. Chapter 45

Haldir let himself sink into the alert mindset of the anticipation of battle. In an odd way, he was comforted by Orophin's admission, for he knew what he was doing in a fight; strategy, leading elves, the clean cut of his sword through the air—these were familiar things and he was _good_ at them. The ambiguity that surrounded the darkness of the forests had troubled him more than the sudden threat they now faced.

Thranduil spoke first, addressing his chief of guard. "Assemble the vanguard and send them into the forest, fan out to catch the orcs. The rest of the army will be readied in less than an hour, they will provide reinforcements."

Accepting that the elves of Eryn Galen would know the forest far better than he, Haldir nodded—he had, after all, less than twenty wardens at his disposal. It irked him to be so far from home whilst facing this threat; though he knew Thranduil's army was ruthlessly competent and larger than the amassed armed force of Lothlórien, he did not know their training as well as he did the host of Lórien.

"Go, Haldir, Rúmil," Galadriel bade them. "Your wardens shall join this fight."

Haldir frowned. He had anticipated fighting, certainly, but Galadriel spoke as if he and Rúmil would be leaving alone. "My Lady . . . we all must hurry," he said haltingly.

Galadriel looked steadily from Haldir to Thranduil. The Elvenking turned his wintery gaze upon the Marchwarden and said, "If the orcs are already approaching, they shall arrive within the hour. I cannot take the risk that they will slip past our defences and reach the palace. The mortal will bond to the forest and heal it now."

Haldir felt his heart falter and trip, beating faster and faster. "What—?"

Rúmil shook his head, moving to stand at Haldir's side. "My Lady, you said yourself that Aubrey must rest!"

"We have no time for rest," Galadriel said gravely. "With the oncoming danger . . . we all must do what we can. Aubrey, are you willing?"

Haldir's throat tightened, for he knew what her answer would be. She would not meet his eyes, merely looked steadily at Galadriel. "I am," she said.

Haldir grasped her hand in his and held it tightly. He did not try and change her mind, it would be entirely in vain. After all, did he not also risk his life in going to fight? "I love you," he said instead, so quietly that she had to turn her head to hear. This moment was not for the others. "I love you more than I thought was possible, and that is why I know that you will be safe, for you cannot be lost to me now."

Aubrey kissed him, quickly and brightly. "Freoða," she whispered. "I love you too."

"Good luck, Palarran, and be _careful."_

She smiled at him and kissed his jaw. "Only if you are," she said.

o0o

Aubrey felt her heart sink as Haldir vanished form the clearing behind Thranduil and the Greenwood guard. She _wanted_ to believe that he would be safe—she had seen his skill with his sword often enough that she could not worry for his lack of skill, yet Orophin had been so scared . . . she turned back to the tree with a determined set to her lips.

"Do we do this now?" she asked.

Galadriel and Celeborn nodded gravely. "It must be now."

There was something about the look they had exchanged that made Aubrey nervous. She thought about their vast ages and their commitment to Lórien; of Galadriel's enormous power and the singlemindedness with which she wielded it. She heard again Galadriel's deep, warning voice relating mistakes she had made when she was younger. The Lord and Lady were devoted to Lothlórien the way that she had been devoted to Evan, once, Aubrey realised. She swallowed thickly and fought the urge to step back for she realised suddenly that, though they cared for her quite genuinely, Galadriel and Celeborn would sacrifice her life in a heartbeat for the sake of their world.

"Will I . . ." she trailed off and clenched her fists. "Will I die?"

Galadriel did not blink. "It is probable," she said gently. "Your soul has already undergone such damage that when you draw the darkness from the forest away it is likely you will simply fade away."

"Is there any way?" she asked, her eyes growing hot with tears and her lips trembling. "Because—I'll do it, I will, I know that I have to and I _want_ to help, I want to be useful but—but Haldir—he—"

Celeborn looked quite genuinely remorseful. "If there were only someone with whom you shared a strong enough link . . . Haldir would have stood for this but he is needed to fight. The bond you share with the forests was first formed in Fangorn; Haldir could have helped here for he was there at the formation of the bond, he is part of it and so he may support it. Alone, without support . . . Aubrey, my child, I am so sorry. Without someone who shares a part in your bond to the forests, your chances are slim."

Behind her, his voice rough with emotion, Orophin said, "There is me."

o0o

Haldir gathered his wardens to him quickly. He was confident of the ability of each of his wardens; many of them had served with him on the marches for centuries, yet they were just twelve against an army of hundreds. He breathed deeply and reminded himself that Thranduil's army, over a thousand strong, was amassing even as he led his wardens out into the forest.

"Are we to join the vanguard?" Ániero asked quietly.

Haldir scanned the forest before him. The trees grew close and strong, not unlike the trees of Lórien. "Take to the trees," he ordered. "We may come upon them by surprise in the manner that we know. We will wait just behind the vanguard; it has been centuries since last I fought alongside the elves of Eryn Galen; it is best that we stay in our own unit."

"How many orcs shall there be?" asked another of his wardens, Calion.

"Five hundred," Haldir murmured, and grimaced. "At least. But be not discouraged; the armies of the Elvenking will fight. I know each of you to be a brave and noble warrior, skilled and sure. Do yourselves proud in the defence of our kin."

They returned his bolstering looks with renewed confidence, though Ániero still looked troubled. "But, Marchwarden," he said quickly, "where is the Lady and Lord Celeborn?"

Haldir swallowed stubbornly. "The Lord and Lady fight their own battle, one in which we cannot aid. To the trees!"

His wardens melted into the shadows beneath the spreading trees of Eryn Galen then leapt, flashing briefly in the light like leaping fish, before they were hidden in the concealing canopies. Just as Haldir made to follow, Rúmil grabbed his arm.

"Wait," he brother bade him.

Haldir shook himself free. "We do not have time for talk," he said sternly. "We must hurry."

"A _minute,"_ Rúmil insisted.

There was something in Rúmil's voice and the tightness around his eyes that gave Haldir pause and he relented. "Quickly," he said.

"Are you fit to fight?" Rúmil asked.

Haldir almost laughed, until he saw that his brother was serious. "Why would I not be?"

"You know full well why," he snapped. "If I am worried for Aubrey then I cannot imagine what you feel."

"I cannot speak of this now," Haldir said lowly.

"But—"

" _Rúmil._ I cannot speak of it because I cannot _think_ of it. I ask that you trust me now, as you have always done. I am fit, I am able and I am ready." He stared into his brother's eyes, waiting for the acceptance that slowly dawned.

Rúmil clapped him on the shoulder and began to stride towards the first tree. "Very well," he said simply. "Only . . . I will watch your back."

"And I will watch yours."

They leapt into the tree together and followed the faintly quivering branches that marked the path the other wardens had followed. Haldir was slower than he would have liked; he did not know these trees and he knew the canopy of Lórien and had to double check each step before he took it; still, they ran at a fair speed through the trees until he and Rúmil caught up with the other ten.

Below them and a few metres further forward, a double line of Thranduil's elves stood silently on the forest floor. They wore splendid, golden-tinted armour and carried both bows and swords. Haldir wrinkled his nose; he would not have liked to wear so much plate armour in the close quarters of the forest. Even his heaviest armour comprised only a breast plate, greaves and vambraces. He much preferred the light mail he wore beneath his tunic.

He could hear the orcs.

The percussion of hundreds of heavy feet crashing through the underbrush shook the tree in which he perched. On top of that, he heard a cacophony of snarls, of grunts and shrieks and garbled, echoing black speech. The fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end and his heart sped until it clattered against his ribs. He felt no shame in admitting to himself that he was afraid; even when he separated his terror for Aubrey and focused solely on his surroundings, he feared desperately for his own life.

He thought it curious, this fear; he had felt fear in his first battles when he was barely more than an elfling. He had felt terrible, encompassing fear on the Dagorlad, but after that the petty skirmishes defending the marches of Lórien had not troubled him. Perhaps with his greater age he had outgrown his fear, yet now he had found it again. Now he was old and wise enough to know that skill could count for everything or absolutely nothing in the melee of open battle. Now he knew that luck and the will of the Valar shaped the outcome of each fight more than his own skill with a blade.

A bead of sweat slid down the back of his neck and she shuddered. Beside him, Rúmil looked sharply up into his face. Haldir let his feature harden into a stoic façade and nodded once. _I am well._

The sound of the orc party—the orc _army_ —was so close now that he could determine the individual rhythm of footsteps from each orc. He hoped that Thranduil's line spread out far beyond his own comprehension because from what he heard, Orophin had badly misjudged the numbers of the orcs in his panic. At least a thousand of the beasts bore down upon them, Haldir knew.

"Good fortune to you all," he murmured to his wardens, his _brothers._ "And I thank you."

He drew an arrow from the quiver at his waist and set it against his bowstring just as the first orcs crashed into sight some metres in front of Thranduil's forces.

o0o

Aubrey wanted to pull away from Orophin's entreating stare. She did not want to accept his help in any way for that would be far too close to accepting his apology, to forgiving him, and she did not know if she could acknowledge any such things out loud quite so soon.

Had she had the luxury of time, of _choice,_ she would surely have said no. She had no such choice. "Alright," she said, bitterly and begrudgingly. "You . . . you can help."

Galadriel nodded and hurried swiftly to the tree. "There is little time to lose, dear one," she said.

Aubrey followed her and let Galadriel press one of her hands to the tree, Celeborn on the Lady's other side. Orophin placed his hand over her free hand and she wanted to weep at how familiar the sensation was; if she shut her eyes then the warmth of Orophin's hand could have taken her straight back to the moment of bonding in Fangorn forest.

"Are you prepared?" Celeborn asked her, a fatherly note to his voice.

"Yes," Aubrey said, her teeth gritted. _I have a task, a purpose. I am brave. I am here for a reason._

Orophin and Galadriel pressed their palms firmly against her hands and she felt the white hot pressure of the forest against her mind. She reeled mentally, nearly delirious with pain. The pain of bonding to the forest was magnified thousandfold; she did did not know if it was because the forest was in such agony itself or because her mind, her _soul,_ was truly damaged. For a moment that seemed to last for centuries, she simply _endured_ , certain that moving at all would rend her apart irreparably.

At last, the pain receded into the violent throb of a migraine and she was able to shift, aware of her mind and the forest as separate entities. Beside her was the dual radiance of Galadriel and Celeborn's fëa, yet Orophin's was curiously muted. She had no sensation of him being in any way damaged, but that he held himself deliberately apart from her out of deference, out of apology.

Pushing aside her curiosity and the lingering agony, Aubrey delved deep into the consciousness of the forest. She let herself be borne along through the forest, felt her mind tossed from tree to tree. As she went she _reached,_ searching always for the faint song that was left of Eryn Galen. Even in the brief minutes since last she had bonded to the forest the song had grown fainter and sicker. A thick, cloying, revolting blackness clung to the words of the song, drawing strength from every tree and plant, from every growing and living thing.

She was reminded of an oil slick, and the oil spilled from a point in the south of the forest, a point of such terrible darkness that it hurt her to look there. She saw, as she had seen before, how she might strip away the darkness from the song of the forest and reweave the shattered melody, granting Eryn Galen strength once more.

She tentatively reached out, brushing her mind—soul—consciousness—self—against the darkness. Nausea ripped through her but she felt the darkness was repelled by her, by the _light_ of her. Perhaps it was her intent or perhaps it was simply meant to be, but she knew that she could fight this vast darkness. Determined, she reached her mind towards the darkness once more and let herself sink deeply into it.

o0o

Haldir reached back into his quiver and found his fingers closing around nothing; his arrows were all spent in the carcasses of orcs below. Fifty arrows from his bow had met their mark and assuredly each one of them had felled the beast it struck, yet still they came in droves, howling and shrieking their horrific war cries.

He hardened his nerve and drew Curmegil. The familiar weight of his blade in his hand filled him with renewed courage and he dropped from the boughs of the tree in which he had sheltered straight into the melee.

His landing was awkward for the ground was littered with the twitching corpses or orcs and, to his great sadness, the bodies of slain elves. Thranduil's forces were marvellously skilled but, as he had mused before the onslaught had begun, skill had only so much reach before it ran against the brutal edge of an orc's blade.

He shook himself free of his monetary grief and looked up, raising his sword. Before him, an elleth of Thranduil's army skilfully dismembered the two orcs she faced but beyond her he saw an ellon engaged with six of the foul creatures. He hastened to the aid of the ellon and let himself get lost in the vicious dance that he had spent so many hours educating Aubrey in.

Curmegil swept up the exposed, unarmoured back of the first orc he met, slicing cleanly through thick skin the colour of river sludge. Black blood sprayed across Haldir, burning his face and hissing against Curmegil's cool blade. He felt the jar of his sword catching against the creature's ribs and spine and jerked away before his sword could become caught in the mangled body.

The air hissed behind him and he dropped, ducking just below the crude sword that would have taken off his head. He returned the strike with a quick slash which spilled black blood and entrails. Haldir snorted quickly through his nose in a vain attempt to rid his himself of the stench of death and decay. He knew it would not truly leave him until days had passed. The battle was only just beginning.

The ellon he had aided finished dispatching the last of his remaining assailants. He pushed his long hair away from his face, leaving streaks of black and red blood across his cheeks, and nodded to Haldir in thanks.

Haldir made to wish him further luck in the battle, but before he could speak an arrow ripped through the ellon's neck and he fell like a stone, gasping and drowning. Haldir felt shock rip through him and instinctively he spun to avoid the the next arrow from the orc bowman who stood not ten feet away, a still point in the chaos. Defiant of his own safety, Haldir bent and yanked the arrow from the ellon's throat before he ran for cover, granting the unknown soldier a quick death if nothing else. When he turned back, the orc archer was gone, slain by another.

Haldir curled his lip. There were always more to kill.

o0o

Aubrey was reeling with the darkness she had drawn from the forest. She had taken it into herself at first, feeling as if she was drinking in oil and poison and petrol and smoke all at once, before she had worked out how she might be a conduit for the darkness the same way that the elves were a conduit for the light, allowing her connection with the forest in the first place.

She could not remove the darkness from Eryn Galen, she had realised; to do so was more than she was capable of and would not, she had the oddest sense, be _right._ Instead she found the very heart of the darkness, the heart from which all of this dark blood pulsed, and she directed the darkness back to its origin.

She vibrated with the full force of all that she had absorbed and focused her mind entirely upon the epicentre of malice in the south of the forest. Taking the mental equivalent of a deep breath, Aubrey let go.

If she could have screamed then she would; she understood, finally, what Haldir had meant when he had described the process of connecting her to the forest as exhausting. More than that, this was _draining_ ; she felt as if the darkness stripped away sections of her as left her, flowing back to where it had come from but carrying pieces of her life force with it.

She felt eroded inside and out and she did not know for how long she could bear the terrible sensation. _I am dying,_ she realised. The thought resonated through the forest and through the minds of the elves; she felt Orophin's wordless guilt and Galadriel's grief layered over serene acceptance. Celeborn reached for her, bolstering her as he once had when she and Haldir had argued over Celedan's death so long ago.

 _You can do this,_ he spoke within her. _Aubrey, you are strong._

 _This is my purpose,_ she recalled, reassuring herself with the thought. _This is my task._

The darkness was almost depleted but so was her strength. She felt herself slipping away along with the very last bits of the darkness and she wanted to badly to let go. She would not die, she thought, she would just be one with the forest for all time. It would not be such a terrible existence, to live amongst the trees.

 _No,_ she told herself fiercely. _No!_ She had let herself slip away once before, surrounded by smoke and fire, and it had cost her Evan and her whole life. She would _survive_ this, she would not leave Haldir alone, would not abandon her new life and her friends.

She came back to herself slowly and let her consciousness drift to the bright warmth of the elves' fëa. When she reached their welcoming warmth, however, she paused.

 _What is it?_ She mentally queried, for instead of relief and gratitude as she had expected, Galadriel, Celeborn and Orophin radiated hopelessness.

 _The darkness,_ Orophin murmured across the bond.

Tentatively, terrified of what she would find, Aubrey reached out towards the roiling epicentre she had returned the darkness to. Sure enough, there it was, creeping out into the forest once more, slowly but with great intent. Aubrey fought a rising despair as she realised that she had moved the water but not dammed the breach.

The through struck her and she focused grimly upon the darkness once more.

 _I must build a wall of some kind,_ she projected across the bond. _Only . . ._ she faltered. Still, she felt on the verge of death. _Only, I have no strength left._

Galadriel and Celeborn were silent in such a poignant way that Aubrey was certain they had known this would happen. She could not find it in her to be angry with them because, she realised, she had known it too. She had entered this world after her death, hadn't she?

She gathered what strength she had remaining, little though it was and far from enough, and faced the darkness. She felt an edge to the malevolent presence it was centred around and saw how she might border and barrier it so that the darkness would not trouble the rest of the forest.

But the presence, the enemy that was beginning to take shape before her, was so powerful and she was all but spent.

 _Aubrey,_ Orophin murmured. His voice was no longer apologetic, but sure and strong and supportive. He sounded like the Orophin she had known and loved so well, the Orophin who was a brother to her in every practical sense. _Use the bond. Take my strength._

He pushed his fëa towards her, let her feel the radiant power of it. _I can't,_ she recoiled. _You . . . you could die._

_If you do this without my help, you surely will._

_No, Orophin, I—_

Aubrey had the sense that he enveloped her in a warm embrace, though their physical selves did not move. _I am so sorry,_ he told her gently. _Let me make amends. Let me forgive myself._

Aubrey could not argue. She embraced the warmth, the burning light of his fëa and felt strength anew fill her. She turned to the darkness with fresh determination and began to build the wall.

o0o

Haldir's arm burned fiercely. He had taken a sword to his left shoulder, a long deep cut that bled sluggishly through his tunic and cloak. Thankfully, his sword arm was uninjured but his strength was reduced and his agility impaired. He found himself slashing through the hordes of orcs with less finesse and more desperation, searching for an end to the battle.

He pulled his sword loose from the neck of the orc he had just slain—a brutish creature near enough to his height, armed with a spiked mace—and looked sharply around for his next opponent. None came. Breathing heavily and looking around with a fervour that was almost feverish, it took him a long moment to realise that the battle was over.

The battle was won.

Elves picked their way blearily through the piled carcasses, already Thranduil's armies were beginning to separate the elves from the orcs, and from there the injured from the dead, the dying. He scanned the battlefield, such as he could see it, and felt tear well in his eyes. Though all of the orcs were dead, near enough a thousand by the time the battle had concluded, he would estimate that at least a quarter of that number of elves were dead, if not more.

The forest hummed with grief for its lost children.

_The forest. Aubrey._

"Haldir!" he looked up sharply; the call came from Rúmil who was making his way towards him.

He nodded tiredly towards his youngest brother. "Are you injured?" he asked.

Rúmil nodded briefly. "Not seriously. Broken ribs, perhaps my arm as well. And you?"

"A cut to my shoulder, no matter," he reported. "And the others?"

Rúmil smiled. "None of them lost, though Ániero is wounded. He took an arrow to his leg; thank Eru it was not poisoned."

"Very well. Stay here; I need you to oversee them and get treatment for any that are injured. Work with Thranduil's elves, but do not get in their way. They have lost many of their kind today, they will be sore." He said gravely.

Frowning, Rúmil caught his arm with the hand he was not cradling to his chest. "Where are you going?"

"To find Aubrey," Haldir said shortly. "I would like to know if all of this was worth it."

o0o

With Orophin's borrowed strength, Aubrey was able to erect a sturdy wall around the darkness. Just as she finished layering the barrier, there was an awakening on the other side, and she felt the presence behind it begin to fight. She fought against her instinctual response to shy away from the pain of it and let herself be battered by the wavering walls.

 _Orophin . . . more,_ she thought desperately.

Dutifully, his fëa brightened, bolstering her through the worst of the onslaught. Like the keystone of a bridge, there was one more gate to close before the malice would be sealed away in the southern forest for good. Their combined strength was wavering and Orophin's thoughts and energy were growing sluggish.

Aubrey reached down inside herself and gathered up her last reserves of personal strength, a horrible feeling running through her that this was not simply strength, but _life force._ She pushed onwards, pouring everything that she had into the barrier; the light and goodness of every laugh with Ilye, every one of Haldir's touches, even her most precious of memories; her time with Evan.

 _No!_ Orophin cried. He saw what she was going to do, saw her sacrifice lined up before the alter that was the barrier. _Aubrey, you cannot._

_I must._

_No._ There was dreadful finality in Orophin's fëa and for a moment he sounded like the Trespasser again, harsh and cold and certain. _I understand now. No._

There was a shift within Aubrey, within the bond that linked her to Orophin and through him, the forest. She felt the barrier settle firmly into place, beating back the malice behind it. The shift became a break, and then a shatter, and Aubrey fell back.

The shock of her back hitting the floor brought her slamming into awareness. She scrabbled frantically at the grass beneath her hands, certain that she was mistaken in feeling it, for not a heartbeat ago she had been fully immersed in the bond with the forest and now she was aware and awake, in her own body once more.

Blearily, she looked about. Galadriel and Celeborn rested against the tree trunk, exhaustion written on their faces but otherwise unharmed, holding one another. She pushed herself up and her eyes fell upon Orophin, lying prone upon the floor.

She moaned and crawled over to him. She shift, the shatter, had been in _Orophin's_ mind, not her own. "You are not allowed to be dead," she told him furiously, clumsily thrusting her fingers at his neck and groping for a pulse. "You're not allowed to sacrifice yourself for this. That was _my job_ and you don't get to take that from me, because you can't get out of what you did by throwing yourself off my cliff. _Don't be dead!"_ she yelled. "You _cannot_ be dead because I'm still _mad at you_ and it's not _fair!"_

As soft and unobtrusive as a snowflake falling against her face, she felt the brush of Orophin's pulse against her fingers. She slumped forwards, sobbing with relief against his chest. He was alive. He would not wake, but he was _alive,_ they both were _,_ which was more than any of them could have hoped for.


	46. Chapter 46

Aubrey looked up just as Haldir jogged into the clearing. He scanned the tableau before him, joy sparking in his eyes when he saw that she was alive, before his face shuttered when his gaze fell upon Orophin's figure, sprawled along the ground.

He stumbled forwards, shaking his head wildly, his eyes going from Orophin's slack face to the tear tracks on her cheeks. "He is not—?" Haldir gasped.

Aubrey shook her head quickly. "Alive," she said. "He's alive. Just unconscious."

"And you?"

"I'm fine," she said. He sank to his knees before her at her admission, boneless with relief. The tension fell from his body and when he reached for her, pulling her tightly to his chest, Aubrey had the distinct impression that is was as much to hold himself up as it was to greet her.

He pressed his forehead against her hair and shuddered. "I was frightened," he admitted. "For you, and for myself."

"Are you hurt?" she asked him quickly, pulling away from his grasp in order to examine him as best she could.

He shook his head. "A small cut to my shoulder, nothing more."

Aubrey frowned; though his eyes had softened his mouth was tight with pain. "Let me see," she demanded.

Frowning, Haldir pulled aside his cloak. Aubrey gasped; his tunic had been slashed open across the top of his shoulder and she could see that his mail was rent apart beneath that. Blood was still seeping sluggishly from the wound and already a dark stain extended down the left side of his body. "That's not a small cut," she snapped.

"Palarran, I am fine," he insisted.

Crossly, Aubrey pulled him closer to her by his uninjured arm. "Keep still," she said brusquely. She leant up, steadying herself against his other shoulder, and peered at the cut. She grimaced and fought back her rising gorge; it would not, perhaps, have been such a bad injury, but whatever had sliced open his tunic had also shattered the mail links on his shoulder; the small pieces of metal had worked their way into the injury and cut deeper, widening the wound and making it ragged. Haldir shifted, and she saw the white glint of exposed bone.

Her head spinning, Aubrey sat back. "How are you still conscious?" she demanded.

He swallowed thickly and attempted to grin. "Perhaps my determination to see you?"

Slapping away his hand, she stood and crossed to where Galadriel and Celeborn rested. "Galadriel," she cried, "Haldir's hurt, and Orophin won't wake up."

Celeborn raised his eyebrows, his gaze falling upon Orophin. "He stirs now," he said.

Embarrassed, Aubrey whirled around. Sure enough, as she had examined Haldir's injury, Orophin had begun to slowly come around.

He sat up, blinking blearily and rubbing at his head. "Aubrey?" he mumbled, falling back against his elbows.

Haldir looked up sharply and stood, wobbling slightly as he regained his feet. He recovered his balance swiftly and went to his brother. "Orophin! Are you well?"

Orophin's eyes went wide; Haldir had not replaced his cloak and so his blood-soaked tunic was evident. "Brother, what have you done?"

Haldir sighed impatiently. "An orc caught me with his blade; it would have been nothing but the mail split into the wound."

Orophin frowned deeply and, when she glanced to him, Aubrey saw that Celeborn wore the same puzzled expression. "I thought you wore your mithril shirt, Marchwarden?" Celeborn called.

Had Aubrey not known him so well, she would have described his expression as _sheepish._ "I . . . Rúmil had not brought a mithril shirt. I leant him mine, and wore steel."

Orophin's expression shifted to one of pained understanding. "We must hurry back to the palace," he said. "You must have that seen to, if you wish to keep the use of both arms."

Wryly, Haldir smiled. "I think I should, yes." He stood carefully, holding his balance, and extended a hand to Orophin who was still pale.

Orophin took Haldir's hand and, anxious to spare his injured brother, splayed his free hand against the bark of the tree for support. As soon as he touched the tree, he went white and fell down. "Brother?" Haldir said anxiously.

Orophin did not speak. His face was marred by a deathly pallor; he looked as if he had seen death and had no strength to run away from it.

Aubrey hurried to Haldir's side and crouched by Orophin, reaching out a hand but stopping before she touched him. "Are you—what is it?"

She saw him swallow once, twice; blink. "I . . ." Orophin whispered, his voice dry and small and scared. "I cannot feel the forest. It is as if it is not there."

o0o

Haldir fell back against the bed, exhausted. The wound on his shoulder had been cleaned, stitched and bandaged; it now throbbed dully with each movement. Thranduil's army was still returning to the palace in slow droves, bringing back the injured—and the dead. Haldir could do no more than mourn for them, and think himself lucky that none of his company were amongst the rising toll.

A warm touch to his uninjured shoulder drew him from his thoughts. He smiled tiredly up at Aubrey and took the hand that rested on his shoulder, pulling her gently into his lap.

"How are you?" he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. "Tired. I have a bit of a headache. I'm fine. How's your shoulder?"

Experimentally, he flexed his left arm and winced. "It will heal."

Eyes glinting mischievously, Aubrey kissed the centre of his chest and then each of his flat nipples, trailing her nails down his stomach. "If it means you lie around shirtless all day, maybe you should get stabbed more often."

He groaned and snatched her hand away from his pants, bringing her fingers up to his lips. "Don't start something I cannot finish," he advised her.

Subsiding with a smirk, Aubrey sank forwards, sliding down his body and resting her head in his lap. He sank his hand into her hair and scraped his fingers across her scalp, kneading away the tension he found at the base of her neck and her temples. Whatever human approximation of a fëa she possessed rose to his touch, fluttering gently against him like a butterfly; a butterfly caught in a spider's web, its wings torn and weeping. His lips thinned and he pulled his hand way, resting it against the bed instead.

Oblivious to his sorrow, Aubrey took his other hand in her and played lightly with his fingers. "Do you think Orophin will ever feel the forest again? What—what's it like?"

Haldir drew in a deep breath. "He has lost a sense. Imagine you were suddenly blind, Palarran, or deaf. Logically, I would expect that his link to the forest is merely muted by the power of what the two of you did today, but . . . after everything that he did to you, after the lies he told and the malice that he felt . . . yes, he knows that he was wrong and he is sorry, but that does not change what he did. The world has an odd way of finding recompense, sometimes."

"So . . . you think he'll be like this— _blind—_ forever?" Aubrey gasped.

He shrugged. "Only time will reveal the truth."

"I should feel glad, I think," she murmured. "After what he did to me, I should hate him. But he did it for you, and he gave this up for me. I don't know if I can blame him for that."

"Sleep, melethril," Haldir bade her, raising his hand to once more slowly stroke through her hair.

She turned her head to kiss his thigh and rolled clear of him, not wanting to jar his shoulder in her sleep. As she curled against his side and fell into a light sleep, he felt again the weak flutter of her soul, and he bit his lip sharply lest his tears disturb her.

o0o

Aubrey did not bow when Thranduil farewelled their party. He had moved along their party, clasping each elf's hand tightly in his and sincerely thanking them for their efforts on behalf of his realm. In turn each elf, even Galadriel and Celeborn, dipped their head in respect.

When he came to Aubrey at the end of the line, he took her hand in his. A frown flickered across his brows and his hand tightened around hers. Aubrey tried to pull away but he held fast. She saw his eyes flicker from Haldir to Galadriel and back to her and she grew nervous.

"What?" she asked. "What is it?"

Thranduil's expression smoothed and he released her hand. "Will you not bow?" he asked lightly. His eyes were steely but Aubrey was sure she saw mirth there in their aching depths.

Her own lips twitched. "Should I?" she asked.

The humour faded from his eyes and instead, he regarded her with sadness. "No," he said softly. To her astonishment and the evident shock of all the gathered elves, he dipped his own head. "Thank you," he said, straightening. "Thank you for your service."

Aubrey frowned and stepped back, for she could not shake the feeling that, though he had thanked her, he had meant to apologise.

Haldir cleared his throat beside her and straightened. "Let us be off, my Lady," he said to Galadriel.

At her nod, their party stepped back and turned toward the line of horses that waited for them. It was not until Aubrey had mounted her Alfirin that she noticed Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil lingered behind. Rúmil, she saw, was shaking his head fervently at Orophin. Haldir had an appeasing hand on the shoulder of each brother, speaking to them in tones so soft that she couldn't tell what they were saying.

At last, Rúmil's soft protests subsided. The three brothers looked up and walked towards her in step, Orophin a pace before the other two. He was still pale and shaken from the loss of his connection to the forest and still could not bring himself to look her in the eye frequently. He did so, however, gazing so intensely into her that she was certain she could feel his eyes.

"Um . . . aren't we going?" she asked.

Orophin nodded gently. "You are going," he said. "I . . . am not."

"I don't understand," she said uncertainly.

He shifted, blinked rapidly to disperse the moisture in his eyes. "I know that you have forgiven me in your mind, but in your heart you have not . . . and nor has Haldir. Not yet."

"But—"

He cut her off with a small smile. "Aubrey," he said. "This is my choice. Eryn Galen has lost much, and that is partly my fault for the way I obstructed you. I will stay here and aid my woodland kin."

"Will . . . will I see you again?" she asked. It was not until that moment that she truly _felt_ how much she still loved Orophin, and she found herself hoping desperately that he would say yes.

"I do not think so," he said gently. "By the time I am ready to return . . ." he trailed off, and would not look at her or Haldir. "I love you, my sister," he said firmly, clasping her hand away from Alfirin's reins. "And I am sorry."

o0o

Their party paused frequently on the way home. Though none of the elves had been injured, a few were injured, including Haldir himself. However, as the long ride home progressed and the elves began to regain their strength, it became more and more obvious to all of their party that Aubrey lagged behind. Haldir took as much of her duties as he could, distributing her pack between he and Rúmil so that Alfirin would be as steady and stable as possible, yet still, by the second week of travelling he could no longer avoid noticing that she required rest every few hours at least.

During one such rest, Rúmil touched his tunic sleeve to draw him aside under the pretence of checking the dressing on his shoulder.

"You cannot pretend you have not noticed how Aubrey is weakening," he said.

Haldir tightened his jaw. "Travelling is tiring for mortals," he said.

Rúmil frowned at him. "Please do not lie to me, brother."

"Let me have until we reach home," Haldir begged. "Please, brother."

Rúmil acquiesced, and they did not speak of it again, even when Aubrey tired so quickly that she was forced to ride in front of Haldir on Celeroch's saddle.

o0o

What seemed like years after they had left Lórien, Aubrey stood back in Galadriel and Celeborn's talan. The breeze that stirred the branches of the trees and flowed into the talan was warm; it played through long, white curtains, making them curl in the air like smoke from an incense stick.

Galadriel regarded Aubrey evenly, the same way that she had once regarded her upon her return from Imladris. Celeborn, stood at Galadriel's shoulder, looked impassively down at Aubrey, but grief touched his eyes and the shape of his mouth.

It came as no surprise to Aubrey whatsoever when Galadriel said, "You are dying, Aubrey Palarran."

She nodded and crossed her legs at the ankle. "Yes, I thought so. It's odd; I don't hurt at all. But every day I am a bit more tired. I feel . . . finished. Maybe it was bonding with the forest that last time that finally did it, but I feel as though this has been coming since I woke in this world all those months ago. After all, I was always dead, right?"

Celeborn frowned. "Child," he said, then seemed to reconsider. "Aubrey. You take this incredibly calmly for one so young."

"I've done it before," she said flatly. "And I'm not—calm. I'm _terrified._ I'm so scared that it _will_ hurt, in the end; or that it will kill Haldir when I go. And . . . and I'm angry. I'm _furious._ Because I worked _so hard_ to help you all and this is what I get? It's not _fair!"_ she cried, expending more energy than she had in days. She sank back, breathing heavily.

Galadriel tilted her head and her golden rain of hair fell to the other side of her neck, spilling down her shoulders. "There is a way," she said simply. "There is a way that you might live."

Aubrey's breath caught in her throat. "What is it? I'll do it."

Galadriel shook her head. "It is not nearly that simple, dear one."

o0o

It took Aubrey nearly an hour to get back to Haldir's talan after she had finished talking to Galadriel. He was waiting for her in the entranceway, a taught expression of worry on his face; the same expression that he had worn since the battle. She realised that he must have known all along, something in that innate sense that Orophin had lost must have told him.

And so she said simply, "I don't have to die."

His face lit up with joy for a second before his expression shuttered, going guarded and uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"I spoke with Galadriel and Celeborn. They had spoken to Thranduil before we left Eryn Galen and they have just heard from Elrond . . . you know that I'm dying—no, _listen,"_ she insisted, for he had turned away as he always did when she mentioned her pressing mortality. "Galadriel saw it instantly after the battle, and I think you did too? Yes. Well, for what I did . . . essentially, I gave my life for Eryn Galen." She explained.

Hope began to flare in Haldir's eyes but his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. " _Tell me,"_ he begged her.

She reached out and took his hands in hers, rubbing the tendons and joints until his hands softened and held hers. "White shores," she whispered. "A pale moon across a wide sea, and white gulls calling."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Valinor," he breathed. "You are allowed—"

"For what I sacrificed," she said. "Yes."

He pulled her into his arms and held her with fierce passion and abandon, pressing his lips first against her brow and then against her own. "I love you," he told her softly.

She reached up and touched his cheek, which was wet with tears. "Then why are you sad?" she asked.

"Because it is not my time to go," he whispered. "I cannot go with you."

o0o

His hands were warm on her skin, tracing the long curve of her spine and the lines of her ribs. He had made love to her gently and slowly, mindful of her growing weariness and the delicacy of her mortal body.

"I don't want to go," she whispered. Her lips brushed his chest when she spoke. "I don't want to leave you."

His arms tightened. "You are not leaving me, meleth," he denied. "You are merely going to wait for me. We will see each other again."

"You—you said it could be thousands of years before your time to leave comes," she said. Her voice shook slightly. "I can't wait that long."

"I waited over four thousand years to meet you," he reminded her. "The time that passes now will feel like a dream."

"Haldir, please don't make me leave you," she begged him, drawing away so that she could meet his eyes.

His silver gaze glittered with tears. "If you stay then you will die," he said, voice breaking. "I will have to watch you—this way, we are parted for a time but then we will have forever."

"I never believed in heaven," she murmured. "Not the way it was back in the other world."

"This is not heaven," he said. "It is a land eternal." He shifted so that she sat between his parted legs, his arms coming around her waist and drawing her close. "White shores will great you," he whispered. "Already you are beginning to tire here, I can feel it. All that you have done to link our kin has sapped you. You are weary, your task is done."

His voice trailed away and he began to sing, soft and slow and deep, his lips against her ear.

" _Lay down your sweet and weary head. Night is falling; you've come to journey's end . . ."_

She felt hot moisture on the back of her neck and her shoulder and realised that he was crying, his arms trembling around her. He stopped then, unable to continue his song, for his voice had shattered upon the words and his shoulders shook with grief. She knew then that the distance they faced was as intolerable to him as it was to her if not more so, because he had lived the long years before and knew what it was to be alone.

"Don't cry," she said softly, taking his hand in hers. "I will wait for you."

o0o

Their farewell was drawn out over the long weeks that it took them to travel to the Grey Havens; so drawn out that when eventually it came time to board the boat there were no tears left to be spilled by either of them. Instead, Aubrey smiled brightly.

"Do you remember how much you hated me when we first met?" she asked him playfully.

He raised one eyebrow. "I remember how insufferably stubborn you were," he retorted.

"Well," she said. "Like attracts like, it would seem."

They had not travelled alone; Rúmil and Ilye and come along to fare Aubrey well, as well as Roitar and Meril, his mother, who would travel to Valinor with her. "What shall I do when I get there?" Aubrey wondered aloud, glancing between her companions.

Haldir reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a thick, sealed letter. "This is for my parents," he said, pressing the envelope into her hands. "I would be grateful if you would give it to them."

"How will I know them?" she asked, turning over the thick letter in her hands.

Haldir smiled wryly. "Something tells me that my mother will seek you out . . . and if that fails, then my father looks exactly like Orophin."

"Would you like me to give them anything, Rúmil?" she asked him.

He shuffled awkwardly. "I do not know them," he said. "Haldir is my father, in all but fact. But . . . I would like it if you would tell them about me. Only the good things, of course," he grinned.

She smiled tiredly and nodded. "Of course."

She glanced at Haldir and nodded to him; he returned her gesture and lead Rúmil away in order to examine the ship. Aubrey turned to Ilye and, without pause, threw herself into her friend's arms. "I will miss you so much!" she cried.

Ilye pressed her face into Aubrey's neck and Aubrey felt moisture against her collarbone. "I will miss you too," she said. "My good friend. I will write your stories in the archives of Lórien," Ilye promised. "The tale of Aubrey Palarran, who travelled from another realm in order to save the world."

"I like that," she smiled. "It has a good ring to it."

Ilye nodded and subsided, beginning to cry in earnest. Rúmil approached them and cautiously pulled Ilye into his arms; unresisting she turned her face into his chest. Taking the opportunity whilst they were both occupied, Aubrey walked slowly over to where Haldir stood, staring straight-backed out to sea. The setting sun set his silver hair aflame and turned the tears on his face into shattered diamonds.

He half turned towards her. "Are you well, meleth?"

"I am tired," she said. "I'm . . . I'm ready to go."

Haldir cleared his throat. "The ship is ready to leave, as soon as you are on it."

"I know," she said. "First, I want to give you this." So saying, she reached up and slipped the cello peg necklace over her head. On one side, the worn _E_ and _A_ still marked out her love for Evan, but on the other side she had inscribed a _P_ and an _F._ "For Palarran—"

"And Freoða," Haldir finished her thought. He smiled and folded the necklace in his fist. "I will wear it always, until I see you again."

"I'll want it back in perfect condition," she told him as sternly as she could.

He nodded. A sense of inevitability swelled between them and she sucked in a breath, her voice catching.

"I love you," she told him.

He smiled. "Naturally. I will see you soon, melethril—Palarran. Time for one last journey."

He followed her up the ramp onto the ship, supporting her failing strength with his, and held her hand as she stepped down into the ship. "I half wish that you'd just get on this ship now and come with me," she said.

He smiled wryly. "I cannot. My task is far from done; I am needed here."

"I know," she said simply. "I won't say good—I won't say that. I . . . I'll be waiting."

They kissed, first gently and joyfully, in celebration of the third chance she had been granted at life, and then bitterly, violently, grief stricken and certain in the knowledge that their deal was unfair. Haldir fled from the ramp after that; Aubrey thought that if he had stayed behind, he would not have been able to stop himself from joining her. She smiled, turning her face into the sun. Her task was done.

o0o

_**Five hundred years later.** _

Haldir had retreated to a quiet corner of the battlements in order to collect his thoughts before the start of the oncoming battle. He could see the approaching army of Uruk Hai clearly; firelight from ten thousand torches glinted off their armour and flickered against their crude standards. Their quest was to wipe out the men of Rohan, but Haldir would not see the Horselords so easily defeated. He curled his lip in disgust of the brutish forms, yet he could not summon much rage. He felt an obscure, persistent calm despite the horrors the night was sure to bring. Perhaps he had seen too much battle over his long life to be bothered by it anymore; perhaps he was simply weary. He sensed his time in Arda was drawing to a close. The urge to sail had been slowly building over the past few decades and he could not have been gladder; five hundred years had passed since he had bade an unwilling goodbye to Aubrey Palarran.

A shadow moved behind him and he turned expectantly. Aragorn stood there; the ranger who would become a king. Estel he was called by the elves, Haldir recalled. He respected the man, found his bravery and compassion admirable and revelled in the hope he presented to both elves and men.

"Marchwarden," Aragorn greeted him. "I am sorry to disturb you."

"No matter," Haldir told him. "I was thinking of what is to come."

Aragorn dipped his head. "I cannot thank you enough for your aide," he said.

Haldir smiled wryly and looked away into the darkness. "The elves owe a great debt to mankind." He felt Aragorn's gaze sharpen with intent and yet he did not speak, held back by some sense of privacy or decorum, Haldir did not know or care. "It is alright," he murmured. "You may ask."

"Forgive me," Aragorn said. "I . . . I heard a rumour, once, in Imladris, and Legolas spoke of it, after we passed through Lórien . . . a rumour that comes back to me now. You are not fighting just for the sake of men, are you? There was a mortal woman that you . . ." the Dúnadan trailed off into silence.

"Aubrey," Haldir said softly. "Her name was Aubrey. Five hundred years ago, she came to Lothlórien from another world." He looked back and met Aragorn's gaze; the ranger's eyes were incredulously wide. "I had trouble enough believing it myself, at first, by Lady Galadriel is seldom mistaken. Aubrey stayed with us for a little over a year, and in that time she saved us all."

"There was more to the rumour," Aragorn said carefully. Haldir sensed that this was a man well versed in privacy; that he did not mean to pry, but needed some assurance of Haldir's motives for being here. If Haldir fought for some other cause, then he was not Aragorn's responsibility.

"Arwen is not the only elf to love a mortal," he said dryly.

Aragorn sucked in a sharp breath at Haldir's words and turned away. There was a long pause in which Haldir watched the lights of the Uruk fires, drawing ever ominously closer. He thought perhaps that the Dúnadan was done with his questions, but the man spoke. "What . . . what happened to her?"

"She would have given her life to save the elven realms from the oncoming menace of Sauron," Haldir whispered. His fingers wandered up to his throat and he clenched his fist around the smooth wood of Aubrey's necklace; he had not removed it in five hundred years. "And she nearly did. Her soul was damaged irreparably by her task and she was dying . . . but, for what she had done, for the sacrifice she made for the Eldar, she was allowed to sail."

Aragorn looked up sharply. "She is in Valinor?"

"Yes," he said. "It was not my time to go when she left, but in the Undying Lands she is eternal . . ." Haldir turned his face up to the sky and smiled beatifically, imagining that Aubrey looked up and saw the same stars in the same moment. He could hear the Uruk Hai approaching Helm's Deep, but he was not frightened. A light rain began to fall on his face. "She is waiting."

**Finis.**


	47. Chapter 47

**Cast:**

This is by no means the definitive way that the characters 'should' look and if you have your own image of characters I'd encourage you to stick with them! But, just for fun, this is sort of what I imagined the characters to look like—not entirely, there are differences, but this was just by guideline.

Aubrey – Imogen Poots

Evan – Dylan Forsberg

Ilye – Sarah Gadon

Glorfindel – Amadeus Serafini

Eruanna – Astrid Berges-Frisbey

o0o

**Deleted scene I**

**Chapter 22 –** _**The Cardinal Sin –** _ **Orophin keeps watch**

Orophin had volunteered to sit the watch after Haldir. He'd taken to offering for that watch, knowing that Aubrey preferred to watch first and Haldir to selflessly take the middle watch, the most difficult.

He would have fought his brother for the more taxing, middle shift were it not for the fascination he had found in watching Haldir's nightly routine. First, he would cast a quick glance at the hobbled horses to ensure that they were in place, but then he would go to Aubrey's sleeping form and watch her for a few stolen moments. Orophin, unobtrusively watching from across the fire, would stifle a smile as Haldir's breath came to match the steady rise and fall of the blanket-covered mound that was the human girl. When he had satisfied himself that she was well and sleeping, Haldir would set his sleeping roll out, just a little closer to Aubrey's than Orophin could help but noticing, and fall into a restful trance.

Orophin smiled widely into the darkness. Long had he predicted what a fantastic friendship Haldir and Aubrey would share once they overcame their wariness and natural distrust of each other. And perhaps—as Rúmil had predicted—they could have more?

He hoped so, for too long had his brother been alone. Any relationship with Aubrey would do him good, even if his brothers had needed to point him in her direction.

Orophin settled back on his heels and began the meticulous task of cleaning the arrows in his quiver of any dust and grime they had accumulated. He would continue to take the last watch, until they returned home to Lórien.

o0o

**Writing playlist**

**Very long, because I listen to a** _**lot** _ **of music while I write; otherwise I can't focus. This whole story was inspired by a song – 'Black Mambo', the Glass Animals. Something about that song just reminded me of the way I always imagined Haldir and his brothers, especially fighting together. Just imagine them whirling around a battlefield with that song playing! I've noted which songs are 'themes' for individual characters or relationships.**

Fallen Through Time – Outlander OST (Aubrey's theme)

Opening – Far From the Madding Crowd (Haldir's theme)

Infinite Potential – Doctor Who season 7 OST (Haldir and Aubrey's theme)

Black Mambo – Glass Animals (Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin's theme)

Illumination – Da Vinci's Demon's OST (Orophin's theme)

Comptine d'un autre été (Aubrey and Evan's theme)

The Court of the Crimson King – King Crimson (Thranduil's theme)

Sick – Black Beauty OST, Danny Elfman

Spiegel im Spiegel – Arvo Part

Forest Fire – Brighton

My Name is Tom – Harry Gregson-Williams

Assassin's Creed: Revelations, main theme – Lorne Balfe

May it Be – Enya

Charge – Marc Streitenfeld

Into the West – Annie Lennox

Into the West – Peter Hollens cover

Lament for Théodred – Howard Shore

Heimr Arnadalr – Frozen OST

Romantic Flight – How to Train Your Dragon – OST

Vlad vs 1000 – Ramin Djiwaldi

Kells Destroyed – The Secret of Kells

Only a Dream – Danny Elfman

Epilogue – The Antlers

Poor Wayfaring Stranger – Peter Hollens & The Swindle Singers

Half the World Away – Aurora

Beyond the Forest – Howard Shore

A Room All Her Own – Black Swan OST

Broken Hearted I Will Wander – Kate Rusby

Byzantium – Jesper Kyd

First – Cold War Kids

Compilation of Rohan and Gondor themes – Howard Shore

Return of the She-King – Dead Can Dance

Persephone – Dead Can Dance

The Host of Seraphim – Dead Can Dance

Mhysa – Game of Thrones OST

The Bridge of Khazad Dum – Eurielle cover, Howard Shore

Elysium – Gladiator OST

Hazey – Glass Animals

Toes – Glass Animals

Jerusalem – Libera

Miserere Mei – Gregorio Allegri

I Dreamed A Dream – Anne Hathaway, Les Mis soundtrack

In This World or the One Below – Assassin's Creed IV OST

Kingsfoil – Howard Shore

Life and Death – Lost OST

The Houses of Healing – Howard Shore

In Dreams – Howard Shore

Everybody Wants to Rule the World – Lorde

Main Title Theme (Skye Boat Song) – Outlander OST

The Parting Glass – Peter Hollens

Wolves – Phosphorescent

The Prince's Tale (extended) – Deathly Hallows OST

Requiem for a Tower – Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers soundtrack

She Moved Through the Fair – Peter Hollens

I am Sherlocked – Sherlock OST

Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle – Sherlock OST

Jeg Vet – Siri Nilsen

So Cold – The Good Wife trailer

Sinnerman – Nina Simone

Journey to Fenland – Paul Newton

Theme from Schindler's List

Transformation – Brother Bear OST

A Historic Love – the Tudor's OST

Turn to Stone – Ingrid Michaelson

Wounded – John Powell

Yvaine – Stardust OST

Main theme – Broachchurch OST

o0o

**Deleted scene II**

**The first version of Orophin and Haldir's confrontation, written before I decided to bring in the Trespasser character and take Orophin down that route.**

Orophin watched the light in his brother's gaze, the gentleness, the _worship_ , and all of it directed at Aubrey. Cold dread began to creep through him and he swallowed, standing abruptly. "Haldir," he said sharply.

Haldir looked up, slightly startled, but his hand remained on Aubrey's knee. "What is it?"

" _Speak with me—outside_." Orophin asked him.

Haldir frowned; he'd used a rare Silvan dialect that Aubrey would not understand. "Of course," he said. As he stood, he pressed a soft kiss to the human girl's temple. Orophin flinched, grasping his elder brother's elbow and tugging him from the room. Haldir allowed himself to be dragged out of the talan and along the walkway. They had nearly reached a join in the path when he finally pulled free. "Enough, Orophin! What is this?"

Grabbing his shoulder, Orophin forced him to turn so that their faces were inches apart. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice low.

"Currently," Haldir hissed, "I am wondering what has so possessed my brother, and whether I should simply knock him out."

"With _Aubrey._ What are you doing with _Aubrey?"_

The older elf went as still and cold as the waters of a deep lake. He backed away, until he was at the very edge of the walkway. "Stop." He said. It was a command, and a plea. " _Let us be."_

"Haldir, no one was more delighted than I to see you warm to her. If anything, I blame myself—I pushed you to be closer, after all; but I never thought—I didn't realise it would go this far. You cannot—"

"Stop," he whispered. "I will not hear this."

"You _must!"_ Orophin pressed, striding forwards and gripping his shoulder. "She is _edain_ , brother."

"I know! I know what she is," he hissed, trying to pull free, but his brother clung on.

"She is _mortal,"_ Orophin said, his voice soft but fierce. "Mortals _die."_

Haldir felt the words like an ice cold blade twisting into his gut and for a timeless, hazy second, he thought he might throw up. "I know," he breathed. His hands were trembling, spasming, and tears burnt in his eyes, fragmenting his vision. "I know." His knees gave out and he sank to the floor, his fingers curling desperately around one of the slats in the walkway. Just imagining it was more than he could bear.

"Brother," Orophin said helplessly, "you cannot love her."

"It's too late for that," he murmured, so quietly the words were almost lost in the inches between them. A tear fell from his eyes, staining the wood, and then another, until he couldn't stop them, and his hands grew slippery on the walkway.

"No, Haldir!" Orophin's voice rose, desperate anger in his tone. "This will be your _death!"_

"I know," he said again. His voice shattered on the words. "I know."

o0o

**Stats, figures etc.**

**Character stats:**

**Yeah, I did detailed character sheets for them all because I'm a detail orientated nerd.**

Aubrey:

Full name: Aubrey Katherine Wendale

Meaning: 'elf ruler' or 'rules with elves'

Epessë: Palarran

Meaning: 'far-travelled' or 'wanderer'

Date of birth: 5th May 1992 (aged 23)

Height: 5'6"

Family: Evan Michael Wendale (brother)

Katherine Rose Wendale (mother

Peter Simon Wendale (father)

Primary weapon: sword

Place of birth: Hawes, North Yorkshire, England

Haldir:

Name meaning: some debate, but most sources state the meaning of Haldir as 'hidden hero'

Epessë: Freoða

Meaning: 'protector' or 'guardian'

Date of birth: SA 1351 (aged 5490)

Height: 6'4"

Family: Orophin (brother)

Rúmil (brother)

Erantion (father)

Indalosse (mother)

Primary weapon: sword

Place of birth: Cerin Amroth (previous capital of Lothlórien)

Orophin:

Meaning: there is not perfect translation of the name; 'Oro' meaning 'tall' is the same as in 'Oropher', Thranduil's father; however the –phin suffix could be related to '-fin' meaning 'hair' (as in Glorfindel) or '-pin', meaning 'small'. That would mean he was called 'tall small' though . . .

Date of birth: SA 3400 (aged 2541)

Height: 6'3"

Primary weapon: twin daggers

Place of birth: Caras Galadhon

Rúmil:

Meaning: again, there was never a clear translation of Rúmil's name but it could relate to 'rum' which is Quenyan for 'secret' and the –il suffix is _similar_ to the –dil suffix meaning 'friend'.

Date of birth: 3A 80 (aged 2420)

Height: 6'3"

Primary weapon: long bow

Place of birth: Caras Galadhon

Ilye:

Meaning: 'All'. See, when I give characters elven names they're so much easier to translate.

Date of birth: 3A 2 (aged 2498)

Height: 5'10"

Primary weapon: N/A

Place of birth: Imladris (moved with her parents to Lothlórien at the age of four)

o0o

**Deleted scene III**

**Chapter 22 –** _**The Cardinal Sin –** _ **the original confrontation between Haldir and the surviving Dunlending man. I decided when revising that I wanted there to be far less conflict between them, because I wanted the scene to focus on Aubrey's reactions rather than Haldir's, but this was the original version:**

Haldir's voice was hard as steel and icy cold. "No elf would conceive of the crime committed by your fellow," he said. "Such a thing would not even enter into the mind of one of my people. Yet we have had dealings with humans before— _I_ have had dealings with humans before. This is not the first time I have seen a human try to take a woman by force. The last man who tried such in my presence met his death on my blade . . . Aubrey's actions spare your man that fate at least, but am I possibly to believe you knew nothing of this?"

The Dunlending man sneered and spat at Haldir's feet. "We thought that she was an elf, like you. I did not know he would touch her."

"It is only human women, then, that you permit your brethren to pray upon?" Haldir demanded coolly.

The rage on the Dunlending's face twisted his tattoos into a macabre snarl. "What do you want from me? I cannot take back the actions of a dead man."

"You can pay for them," Haldir said darkly. His hand itched on the hilt of his sword.

Alarmed, Orophin stepped forwards. " _Brother,"_ he said in Sindarin. " _What has overcome you? This man has done nothing."_

" _By chance alone—had we not awoken who knows what he may have done to her?"_

" _Haldir!"_ Orophin said sharply, his eyes darting down to Haldir's tight grip on the hilt of his sword. " _You go too far. We represent the Lady, and the Wood."_

Clenching his teeth to fight back rage, Haldir subsided. "Go," he said brusquely to the human man.

He looked between the two elves, dumfounded. "What?"

"Go, before I change my mind and march the host of Lórien to your village!" Haldir repeated. His eyes tracked over to where Aubrey sat on the floor on the other side of the clearing, staring mutely at the darkened blood stain by his feet. His throat tightened and he looked away.

o0o

**World stats:**

Story takes place – 3A 2500-2501

Aubrey comes to Lothlórien in early August, leaves for Imladris in mid-October and returns in January. They travel to Eryn Galen in early April and return in late May, shortly after Aubrey's 24th birthday, though she has lost track of this. She sails for Valinor in September, just over a year after she arrived in Lothlórien.

**Distances:**

I looked at various maps and keys drawn by Christopher Tolkien to get my distances as accurate as possible; a lot of fanfics I've read make Arda feel really small, but from the best measurements we have, it's pretty big. Tolkien himself stated that, laying Arda over Europe, the Shire would lie over Oxford, in England and Minas Tirith would lie over Florence, Italy. By that measure, Mirkwood is about the length of Germany!

Taking all of these things into account, I used the following stats for my story:

Lothlórien:

75 miles east to west by 45 miles north to south.

Lothlórien to Imladris:

250 miles as the crow flies; via Caradhras 300 miles; via the gap of Rohan just over 700 miles.

Lothlórien to Thranduil's palace in the north of Eryn Galen:

370 miles.

I hope those distances explain the length travel times I have in the story. The average horse walks at 4mph; the average human walks a 3mph. I think that elves would probably walk about 4-5mph but that's irrelevant given that Aubrey is always with them. Misconception time: you do _not_ get anywhere faster by going on a horse—not unless you want to run the horse to death, anyway. I judged that two elves and a fit human, with three fit horses, would be able to average about fifteen miles a day, taking into account terrain, tiredness, delays. On that assumption, the journey back from Imladris to Lórien, through the gap of Rohan, would take just over 46 days.

o0o

**Deleted scene IV**

**Chapter 40 –** _**A Ship in Harbour –** _ **conversation between Ilye and Rúmil**

Ilye stilled, half wanting to hurry after Aubrey back out into the safety of the open stableyard, but to simply run away from Rúmil when he so evidently wished to speak to her would have been unbearably rude; she could not in good conscience be so awful to him when he was about to leave.

Now that Aubrey was gone and Fingo's solid weight was no longer a buffer between them, Ilye thought that Rúmil looked nervous. He twisted his—Orophin's—horse's reins in his hands and cleared his throat.

"Ilye—" he began.

"Look after yourself," she cut him off, and flushed darkly.

He blinked, startled. "I will," he said. "Thank you."

"And Aubrey," she said quickly. "Look after Aubrey."

He smiled, then, and dipped his head. "Of course."

She nodded brusquely and shifted her feet in the straw. "Well, you—"

At the same time, he said, "I should—I should be going. Remember what I said, the other day."

Ilye's cheeks burned and she looked fiercely down at the floor. "I have not forgotten," she mumbled.

He bit his lip, looking put out. "Oh. Well, then—I'll go."

He urged Sirdal on and was almost out of the stable door when Ilye gathered her courage and spun around. "Rúmil!" she cried.

He whirled; her voice had been so frantic that he looked around the barn for danger, his eyes wide, before giving her a puzzled look. "What is it?"

 _Courage, Ilye!_ "It, ah . . . it is cold, today, especially out of the wood."

He frowned, stepping towards her. "Go inside, you need not wait; Aubrey will understand."

"No, I meant—take my scarf," she whispered, pulling it from around her neck.

Half delighted, half nervous, Rúmil ducked his head, allowing her to wind her scarf around his neck. He clasped her hand in his before she could pull away and squeezed it gently, meeting her gaze. His eyes were soft and warmer than she had ever seen them. "Thank you," he said.

o0o

**Deleted scene V**

**Chapter 42 –** _**In the Kingdom of the Blind –** _ **the original confrontation between Aubrey and Orophin. I was really gutted to cut this scene out of the final chapter but I couldn't for the life of me make it flow. I might try and rework it in when I go back and edit the story, but for now, here it is:**

Orophin studied her lazily, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he couldn't work out why she was in the cramped cell.

"It must feel good to see me here," she snapped. "I bet you're really satisfied."

Emotion stirred in his eyes; she would have said that it was concern, or perhaps hurt, but she no longer knew Orophin— _this_ Orophin—well enough to judge. "Aubrey, you cannot think I get much satisfaction from seeing you imprisoned?"

"You seemed to get a fair amount from trying to _kill_ me," she said viciously.

His expression shuttered. "I never meant for you to die," he said softly. "If you believe nothing else, believe that. I am . . . fond of you, no matter how much I try otherwise."

"So sorry about that," she huffed. "It must be so awful not to be able to hate me."

He narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Oh, but it is. I know that you are a minion of Morgoth; I know that you are a representative of all that I have sought to rid the world of; you are no better than an orc and yet I have been taken in by you . . . when you are not here I can hate you well enough but when I see you . . . when I look into your eyes I see again that lost little mortal girl who hated that she had to kill."

She swallowed and stepped back; there was no madness in his tone and that scared her more than mania would have; he spoke coolly, levelly, with great discernment and judgement and she realised that he utterly, _utterly_ believed that she was evil. "You said—before you said that you knew it wasn't my fault. That Haldir loves me."

Orophin grimaced and looked away. "I did not know, then, all that you had done to the forest. I thought that you were innocent, that you had simply bewitched Haldir . . . now, I know that the forests are dying. This decay first appeared eight months ago . . . just as you came to us. It does not take a great mind to realise your influence."

"Have you not heard of coincidence?" she demanded. "Galadriel thinks that I came here to _heal_ the darkness—not cause it."

Orophin's eyes glittered. "We shall never know; the Elvenking's dungeons are notorious. You will not escape them, and nor shall you be released—even with Haldir's influence." He turned and strode away from the barred door, his cloak whipping behind him. Just before he faded away into the shadows, he tossed over his shoulder, "I am truly sorry that it came to this, Aubrey. If only you had left Lothlórien when you had the chance."

o0o

**Upcoming works:**

Ballad: The story of Eruanna and Glorfindel. This story will be set as they both come back to life in Imladris, about 2000 years before Black Mambo is set.

Estimated length: 30,000+ words. This is an odd one, because I could tell the story in 50,000 words or I could tell it in 500,000. It'll depend on how much I go into it.

Estimated rating: T

Estimated date of publication: I've written a fair amount; this should be ready for publishing some chapters in summer. However, there's always writer's block! Keep an eye on my profile if you're interested in this.

Provisional summary: The doors of the Halls of Mandos are irrevocably a one-way passage. Until they're not. With Imladris in danger, Elrond must convince Glorfindel to help him and unlock the mysterious key to the growing peril in Eruanna's past – but Glorfindel is tormented by his traumatic death, and Eruanna has no memory of her life.

Main characters: Glorfindel, Eruanna (OC), Elrond, Celebrían, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, Gandalf, Túrelio (OC), Ecthelion (mentioned).

The Hollow Crown: This story is about the Dunlendings. I became fascinated by their culture when I wrote them into Black Mambo and now I _have_ to write about them. I'm particularly excited for writing about them, because there's comparatively little source literature on them—I can really take them my own way! The story will be set just after the War of the Ring and will focus on Éomer (one of my all-time favourite characters), now king, and his dealings with the remaining Dunlendings.

Estimated length: 100,000+ words. It's hard to judge because I've written almost nothing of this story, but after drafting out plot lines I'm confident it will be a long one.

Estimated rating: M

Estimated date of publication: not for a while. This story is very much in the conceptual stages. I will begin writing it after my summer exams; it may be published before the end of the year but that will depend on the speed of my writing this summer.

Provisional summary: Éomer went to the borders to suppress the last of the Dunlend rebellions before going to Minas Tirith to celebrate the anniversary of their victory—and find a queen. Instead, he makes a dangerous alliance with a Dunlending warrior which pulls him and his country into a bitter conflict once more.

Main characters: Éomer, Éowyn, Éothain, Aragorn, Imrahil, Rhiain (OC), Talorc (OC).

Untitled: I GOT A REQUEST TO WRITE A STORY AND THIS IS IT. (I'm excited can you tell). This fic will be about Thranduil and will look into how and why he is so agonised in Black Mambo. As yet, it doesn't even have a title, so it's safe to say that this fic is a long, long way away. But it will come! Keep checking on me, I'm bound to post _something_ before too long.

o0o

**Finally:**

Though I won't tell you any more about Haldir and Aubrey, I will tell you that I imagined Rúmil and Ilye did marry. They had three children:

Rúmil's eldest looks like Ilye but he has his father's eyes; he is named _Orophal_ in honour of his uncle, because it is after his birth that Haldir and Orophin finally, properly reconcile.

The second child is as beautiful as Ilye but she has her father's features, she grins like Rúmil and her name is _Ilyature_.

The youngest of Rúmil's children is now an ellon grown and he could be a copy of Haldir. He was almost named Haldor but his uncle rejected the honour; his name is _Erufailo_ —the closest translation that his parents and uncles could find of the Hebrew name 'Evan'.


End file.
